The 45 Minute Walk
by A Girl With An Idea
Summary: Everyone told the new student-John Watson- to stay away from the local psychopath Sherlock Holmes based on past events. So in able to keep the friends he made, he follows their wishes, or at least tries to. Sherlock's deduction skills and odd personality attracts John closer towards him; to fully understand the teenager behind the stories. Johnlock/Teenlock. Help appreciated.
1. Chapter 1

**This is my first attempt on doing a teen!lock piece, and a Johnlock piece. Well, I think it might be a Johnlock piece. This was an idea that I thought of an hour ago and had to type it so I wouldn't forget it. So enjoy! Feel free to review and tell me where I might have screwed up :)**

* * *

It wasn't a day that John Watson was looking forward to, in fact, he wished that the days to come never existed at all. Considering he was in a much safer place, he wished life would just return back to normal. Starting at a new school in his last year was the most difficult thing he has done in his life, he had to leave his friends behind, he had to catch up with schoolwork; this made him feel useless. This was why he wasn't enthusiastic on waking up for school; no matter how much his mother shouted in his ear, he refused to leave his bed.

"John, this is your last year until you go to college. Can you try and be a bit more useful and get ready-"

"No."

"-get changed,"

"No."

"Get up or I'll get a bucket of-"

"FINE!" Lazily, he got out of bed, put on his uniform, grabbed his bag and headed downstairs towards the kitchen. The kitchen table was occupied by his father, mother and sister, who were happily eating their breakfast, not noticing that he entered the room. Both his parents were engaged in a conversation about John's first day, his sister not paying much attention and was more interested in what was on the television.

"You have 50 minutes until school starts, you can't stay long," said his mother as she passed him a piece of toast, "Worst thing to do is be late for school on your first day."

"Just remember to be yourself." said his father as he patted his son on the back, still engulfed by the newspaper.

"That must be the worst advice you've ever given someone." said his sister, Harry. All three laughed briefly before returning to their breakfast, completely ignoring John's presence. Sighing to himself, he walked towards the front door and headed outside into the autumn weather.

There were no buses available near where he lived, so-even with his bad leg-he had to walk to school; 45 minutes there and back. The weather was pouring heavily with rain, splashing into the already formed puddles that emerged in the holes in the pavement.. Closing the front door behind him, he swung his bag onto his shoulder, turned on his iPod and headed started to walk out of his front garden and into the big world in front of him.

The sounds of the morning traffic drowned out as music was blasted through his ears, eyes kept straight on, not turning anywhere else. Teenagers walked in front and behind him in completely different uniforms. There were many schools in the area, but his parents choose to send him to Lakemere High School. They visited before his first day, so they could get a chance to look around. It was fairly large, modern and two stories high, in the heart of the town centre. Surrounded by warehouses and apartments, it blended in with the rest. Each building reached towards the clouds as they grouped aside roads and pavements.

Rain hit his head and shoulders, no matter how fast or slow he walked. Rummaging through his pockets for his phone, he checked the time. It was 8:10am, he had been walking for exactly 30 minutes and it still felt like he was miles away, mind you, he wasn't really paying attention to time.

It wasn't until it turned 25 past 8 that he realised that he was nowhere near his school. He was lost. Turning his head all around, he couldn't find anyone with the same uniform as him. There was no one to ask directions for, he started to panic. He couldn't even trace his footsteps, his couldn't think straight, the pain in his leg grew worse as he struggled to walk. Rain grew violent and soaked his uniform until it reached his skin. Out of nowhere, a figure appeared to walk past him, they were wearing a uniform; it looked like they were going to the same school as him.

"EXCUSE ME?" he called to the figure as he limped towards them, headphones leaving his ears and dragged along behind him, "EXCUSE ME!"

The figure stopped and turned around to face who was calling him, it wasn't until he turned around that John actually got to look at his uniform. Judging by the look of the teenager, John understood that they were likely the same age. Black hair curled and swooped over his eyes, cheekbones so high that they nearly reached his heather grey eyes. His posture was well straight and just like him, he was soaked by the rain. The man gave John a stern look as if he had insulted him.

"What?" he asked, now and then checking the time on his watch.

"Um, do you know where Lakemere High School is?"

"Yes." he turned and continued to walk in the direction he was going.

"Wait!" John ran after him and grabbed him by his upper arm, turning him back round again. He jumped at the sudden jump and looked at John with disgust.

"What now?" he asked impatiently, shifting side to side to keep warm.

"I'm new here and lost the way, can you tell me which way it is?"

"Do you know where the supermarket is?"

"No, which-"

"Well, do you know where the library is?"

"No.

"For the love of-"he pinched the bridge of his nose and suppressed his eyes together, "Do you know where Angelo's is?

"Who's Angelo?"

"Look, If I take you there, will you remember which way you're going next time and leave me alone for the future?"

"Don't you have to get to school?"

"They'll survive without me."John didn't need to think twice, the rain looked like it wasn't going to stop and getting lost in a place he didn't know was the last thing he wanted. Looking at the tempered man in front of him, he slowly nodded and started to follow-who was already walking the opposite direction- the impatient man in front of him.

"I'm John by the way," he said, quickly catching up with him, "John Watson."

"Sherlock," he held out his hand for the other to accept, "Sherlock Holmes."


	2. Chapter 2

Both continued to walk in silence as they paced down the road, each exchanging quick glances-followed by a quick nod- and return to look at the view in front of them. John was too scared to talk to him, from Sherlock's look, he could tell that he wasn't enjoying his company. The rain died down as sunlight emerged back from the clouds, however their uniforms still soaked. Headphones had been put back into his pockets after they had been destroyed by the weather, phone still silently playing his music.

"Accident or intended?" said Sherlock, turning his head again to face John.

" What do you mean?"

"Your stab wound, accident or intended?"

John continued to walk, but couldn't help staring at his wound and Sherlock with shock. The wound was completely covered, there was no way he could have seen it.

"Intended, sorry how did you-"

"Looks like we're here."

He was right, after what seemed seconds, they arrived at the front of the school. John didn't want to admit it to Sherlock, but he had already forgot the directions there. Checking his watch, he noticed that school had started ten minutes ago; the one thing he didn't want to happen, happened.

"Um, sorry to ask but how did you know about-"

"You reach towards your shoulder a lot, that was where you were stabbed. You reach to it because now and then, it causes pain to you. I know that because you start to limp just after you do that. You haven't had that limp for long or else you would have a cane, so the incident happened recently. That's why you're new here, you moved because of what happened."

John was taken aback, someone he had just met already knows something that only a few knew. He never realised he did them things, he hardly notices.

"That was brilliant" said John, who smiled for the first time that day. Even though John didn't think much of the comment, Sherlock looked shocked, but not in a bad way, he almost seemed pleased.

"That's not what people normally say,"

"What do people normally say?"

"Piss-"

"YOU TWO!" shouted someone from inside the gates. Both turned their heads and saw a raged teacher walk towards them, who John knew as the head teacher. His name was Mr Scott and-from what he told John- had been working at the school for fifteen years. Very proud of his job and of the students in it, he seemed friendly before but now he wasn't so sure.

"John Hamish Watson, it's only your first day and you're already late!"

"I got lost."

"Then I suggest you start learning your way. If you're late like this again, you will not be here for long."

John was about to reply another apology before Sherlock interrupted him, "Does your wife know you're sleeping with the maths teacher?"

Mr Scott's face froze as Sherlock's produced a smirk, John stared at amazement to Sherlock, his smile never leaving him. After recovering, the head teacher gave an awkward cough before shoving John inside the school grounds, not giving John a chance to thank Sherlock, who was still staring at John before he continued to walk away from them. The force from the teacher was so strong that John nearly tripped on his own two feet. When they both reached inside(in the reception), John was handed a timetable and was told where to go to for his first lesson.

His first lesson was Maths with Ms Calvert, John laughed silently on how ironic it was. Maths was a subject that he could live with, as he found it incredibly easy and useful. The corridors were identical and all linked together in a maze, silence filling the air, the only echo that could be heard was of John's shoes against the marble floor.

When he reached the classroom, he hesitated before opening the door. Arriving to class was embarrassing enough, let alone if you were new. All of his new acquaintances will not know what happened to him, it will be the secret that will grow inside and eventually people will find out, they have to, it can't just be a secret forever. He knocked twice on the door before entering the room, all eyes were focused on him as he shifted into the room. The teacher was stood at the front of the classroom before John entered, his peers were writing down notes.

"Did I say you could come in?"

"Um, no but-"

"Then go back outside and wait for me to call you in."

John couldn't believe it, when he had a look around the school, none of the teachers acted like this towards him, they were all welcoming and reasonable. Now, he just felt like punching them all. Walking back outside, he closed the door and knocked more harder on the door; a few seconds later, he heard the teacher call him back in.

"What can I do for you?"

"Um, I'm new and got lost and I'm supposed to be here now." he handed over the timetable, but she didn't accept it.

"That kind of behaviour isn't acceptable at this school, sit down next to-" she scanned the room before glaring at the only empty seat in the room, "Sally, she'll help you catch up with the work."

With not even a 'welcome to Lakemere', she returned back to the class and continued to talk to the rest of the class. Shuffling past the desks and chairs, he reached the chair and sat down next to her and held out his hand.

"I'm John, John Watson."

"Sally Donovan." she said, not accepting his handshake.


	3. Chapter 3

At lunchtime, John had been invited to sit with Sally and her friends. When the bell went for lunch, Sally quickly moved out of the classroom and down the hallway full of eager students relieved to get out of lessons for an hour. Even if she didn't lead him to the dining room, he ran quickly behind her and eventually caught up with her.

"So how many of you are there?" asked John as he returned to normal pace, "If you don't mind me asking,"

"Just four of us, not really that many. We like to keep to ourselves. People respect that. We move on with our lives, no one gets hurt."

For now, that was all each of them said until they reached the dining room where-John could easily point out- three people who stood out like a sore thumb sat around a circular table, talking to each other casually. When they noticed Sally walking towards them, they smiled; this smile disappeared when they realised that she was being followed by someone.

"Sally I think you're being followed?" said one of them, looking very concerned.

"This is the new kid," she sat down in between two teenagers, "Jim Watson."

"Actually it's John," he said, occupying the next available seat around the table, "Nice to meet you too,"

"So this is Anderson," she said signalling to her left, "-doesn't like to be called by his real name. As a new kid, you've got to respect that. To my right, is Sarah. That isn't a nickname, it's just plain old Sarah. And who you're sitting next to is Mike, he's been here the longest, god knows how,"

"What do you mean 'how'?"

"Look John," said Mike, leaning towards John, "-it may seem all nice and that on the outside, but if you actually get inside and get to know the people in it, it's a shit hole,"

"Yeah, the teachers seem a bit uptight,"

"When you came to the school, I bet they were all nice to you weren't they?" said Sarah, getting a reply from John with a nod, "Well, that's all a trick. The more students they have, the better review they get. When the inspectors come to this school, we all put on an act."

"Why?"

"Because this school is amazing," said Anderson, completely off attitude to the rest, "They don't pressure you into doing work all day, you can just sit there and do fuck all. It's only Sally here who actually does work because she wants to get a 'good' job when she's older."

"I want to work in law, I need the grades," said Sally, defending herself.

"So do I Sally, but by the time them exams come up in June, I'll have learned everything I need to know for the exams,"

"Clever plan, Anderson. You have to be quick though, you only have ten months left."

"I have plenty of time."

The topic turned to what they did over the summer holidays, so John didn't feel the need to listen into their conversation and instead looked at other tables occupied by other people. The type of students was very stereotypical, you had your popular students who thought they are the next big thing, the chavs who ignored their uniforms and went for tracksuits, the clever people who looked were reading books, the Goths, the hipsters, the sporty type, the geeks and then them.

If John had to think about it, he believed that he would belong on the table with either the clever people or the sporty type. Rugby used to be a great passion of his-until he got stabbed-then he just gave up on trying to get back into the sport. In his last school, teachers were exceptionally proud of the end of term grades he achieved; even if he got injured and moved to another school, he won't let it ruin his chances for a better future.

"Hey John?" a pair of hands waved in front of his face, making him turn around and again face the group, "Are you with us?"

"Yes, um- sorry, what were you saying?"

"Sally was telling us that you were late to class today,"

"Yeah, something happened,"

"John Watson, it's only your first day and you were already late for school," said Anderson in a teacher mocking tone, but returned back to his normal voice, "But seriously though, why?"

"I just got lost, then someone from another school showed me the way, which was nice considering it was raining. He was the same age as me, Sherlock Holmes I think he-" he was cut off by the sound of forks dropping on the table. Looking at their faces, he saw that Sally and Anderson were disgusted while Sarah and Mike turned white as a sheet.

"Did you just say Sherlock Holmes?" said Sally, wiping her mouth of any unwanted food.

"Um- yeah, why what's the-"

"What did he do to you?!"

"Nothing, why are you-"

"Sherlock used to go to this school," said Sarah, the colour on her face returning to normal, "Weird one he was-"

"The problem was he didn't keep to himself!" Anderson was at boiling point, "Always had them fucking sarcastic comments and stupid fucking guesses, he was- no IS a pain in the ass!"

"Why is he at a different school?" asked John, regretting even saying his name.

"Why?" Anderson gave a little laugh, "Because one day, he didn't shut up when I told him to. There he was, making them stupid guesses. Once he finished, I showed him what happened if he didn't listen to people like me."

"What did you do?"

"He kicked the living crap out of him," Mike returned to look at Anderson, "I was there and saw the whole thing, he never said sorry in the time he was here, but when he said sorry to Anderson, he was still getting the life beaten out of him. Bit harsh don't you think?"

"No, I don't think what I did was a bit harsh. Do you know why?" Anderson got out of his seat, still looking at Mike, "It's because people like him need to know when to shut up. Three years I had to put up with all of his bullshit and one day I had enough, I did the right thing, I know it."

With one last look, he turned away and started to walk out of the fairly empty dining room, leaving his concerned friends and a horrified John behind.

"So yeah, that was Anderson," said Sally, each one laughed and got up, ready to go to next lesson, "But in the future, we suggest you stay away from Sherlock Holmes."

Thinking about staying away from Sherlock only left John wanting to know more about him. They weren't just guesses-as Anderson puts them- that he said to John, they were the actual truth. A strange, but exciting feeling started to grow in John. Here he was, in a school which hid behind its fake walls, hiding the terrible truth, in a group of psychopaths who have a hate for the one person who John was actually interested in. What he going to listen to Sally's advice and stay out of trouble? Of course he wasn't, where would the fun be in that?

**Fellow readers, I'm very sorry that I haven't updated in ages. The whole holidays thing and also I'm working and planning out a new idea that I conjured up in my mind. So thank you for your patience :) Feel free to review on your opinions on the new characters.**


	4. Chapter 4

The bell for the end of school went off and all students-including John- fled out of the classroom as fast as they could, not caring for anyone's personal space when running side by side with each other. By now he had completely lost Sally and her friends, which he was glad with. He wanted nothing to do with her after lunch, they all seemed like psychopaths, but it seemed safe to have them on his side.

When he reached the outside gate, students began to drift apart from each other and head their own ways. The path that John remembered from this morning was only occupied by three people, the estate he lived in wasn't as rough as others but it wasn't as posh either. The whole day seemed to drag along, classes used to make John interested but not he didn't feel up for it. But it was only the first day maybe the feeling will disappear, he thought.

Once he walked further away from the school, the amount of people he saw started to reduce in size, leaving only one walking who was in front of him but not too far away. Noticing the shape and the hair of the guy in front of him, he easily recognised him as Sherlock.

"Sherlock!" John cried, slightly running towards him to catch up," Wait up!"

It was Sherlock he saw. Turning around, the taller boy frowned, but then smiled as he noticed who was running towards him. Catching his breath as he ran along, he finally caught up with him and returned to normal pace.

"Hey Sherlock," said John, hoping to get a 'hey' back, but it never came. After a brief moment of pause he broke the ice, "What's up?"

"What do you mean 'what's up'? Do you mean what is above me at this moment in time or are you asking me how I'm feeling? Any one I'd be free to answer."

"Um, how are you feeling? I guess,"

"Normal."

"Normal?" these odd questions and answers made John uncomfortable, even if he didn't want to be, "Normal's good. It's better than not being normal."

"My thoughts exactly."

The space between them seemed to grow smaller, even though John didn't realise it, he was too busy trying not to trip on his own two feet. Their hands briefly brushed against another, before John pulled his hand away from him. John felt like telling Sherlock what Anderson told him, but he was scared of what kind of reaction he was going to get. Instead of telling Sherlock what he knew, he settled on asking more about Sherlock.

"So," said John, breaking the tension between the two, "What school do you go to?"

"Parkbridge Grammar."

"Parkbridge?" asked John, "Isn't that place really expensive to get in?"

"Yes."

"Well that's nice," John paused, trying to think of more questions, "Where do you live?"

"Why would you ask that?"

"Well, we've been walking the same way for ten minutes and I recognise this street from this morning, so you must live closer to where I live. That's why I asked."

"Baker Street."

"Wow...really?" asked John, "Isn't that where all the posh people live?"

"If that's what you call them, then yes."

"Sorry, I wasn't meant to be rude," the silence returned, until John began to speak, "So how long does it take you to get to school?"

"58 minutes. 40 minutes with shortcuts, depends on how I'm feeling."

John really wished the conversation would continue, but it didn't. He didn't really know why he wanted it to continue, it just made him more at ease with someone speaking for once. They were about to reach another corner until a crowd stopped them in their path. John's height had a disadvantage to him, as he couldn't see what all the fuss was about. Sherlock-on the other hand- was already turning into an alleyway, too fast for John to catch up with him, but he eventually did.

"Sherlock!" shouted John, trying to avoid stepping on the broken glasses and damp newspapers, "Where are you going?"

"Shortcut."

"Well, do you know what way you're going?"

"Of course I do," Sherlock stopped in front of a metal ladder before climbing up it towards the roof, "I wouldn't take this way if I didn't know where I was going."

John was speechless, it was only a small crowd and anyway, they could have gone a different route, that was actually on the ground rather than on top of buildings.

"You following?" called Sherlock, who was already halfway up the ladders, "If not then find your own way."

John didn't know why he did it, but he did it anyway. Without thinking, he put his rucksack on both shoulders before climbing up behind Sherlock, who was already at the top. The bars on the ladder were still damp from the weather, which made it more difficult-and slower- for John to climb up. His foot lost balance and slipped off, left dangling in the air while John calmed himself down.

"Sh- Sherlock?" John tried to call, but didn't get an answer, "I need a little help!"

Still not getting an answer, John put his foot back onto the bar and began to climb further up until-finally- he reached the top, collapsing on the floor with delight that he actually made it. Looking up, he noticed Sherlock was already on the 3rd roof away from John and heading onto the fourth.

"Wait up!" called John, as he jumped over ceiling windows and fallen over satellites. Soon enough, he-once again- reached to Sherlock's side, "I'm following you. I don't know the way,"

"Then do keep up John, I don't have all day. I have eyeballs waiting for me."

"Wait, you have what waiting for you?"

"Eyeballs, like I said, do keep up."

"Is that like your motto: do keep up?"

"I don't have a motto, I have no need for a motto. I can live life perfectly well without having a motto."

"Okay, don't get all moody about a bloody motto. It's just a motto. Anyway, where exactly are we?"

"Look over there, does that look familiar?"

Following Sherlock's point, John focused his eyes on a small scale of greenery-which was the park- beyond the street. Easily recognising it, John noticed that they were only 10 minutes away from where he lived, the park was the first place John explored when moving here. He didn't focus on that for long, his gaze landed on the London eye which could be seen in the distance. Compared to where he used to live, London seemed more like where he belonged. It was filled with life and excitement, new possibilities were open on every corner.

"So how long have you lived here for? If you don't mind me asking,"

"All my life."

"You're lucky, being brought up in a place like this? I bet you don't get bored around here," said John, only getting a shrug from Sherlock. They continued to walk on the rooftop, not really talking and sometimes forgetting they weren't alone, until they reached the end of the street. Sherlock followed-once again- down the closest ladder; when they both reached the bottom, they left the passageway and continued to walk down the path.

When they turned the corner, John could see that they were just outside his house. It only seemed like they were walking for 10 minutes, but when John checked his watched, he noticed that they've been walking for 40 minutes.

"Thanks Sherlock," said John, both stopped at the front gate of the house, "For bringing me back here."

"No problem." said Sherlock, turning to leave before John's hand grabbed his arm to swing him back round again.

"Wait, I need to tell you something. You went to Lakemere, didn't you?" said John. Sherlock gave a stern look to John, who was feeling uncomfortable for bringing it up in the first place, "I'm only asking because I met a couple of people there."

"Yes I did, you want to know why I left as well?" said Sherlock, in a sarcastic manner, "Since you're asking a lot of questions about me?"

"I know already. I've met Anderson and he told me what he did and even though I don't know you properly, I think what he did to you wasn't called for. He said you guess stuff about people which turn out to be right, you did that with me and I thought it was fantastic. So yeah, you didn't deserve that from him."

He wished he could take back what he said, he really did. Now, both stood facing each other outside of John's house. Sherlock was open mouthed looking directly at John, while John refused to look him in the eye from embarrassment. However, he meant every word, this talent that Sherlock had didn't freak him out like it did with most people, he was actually jealous of him. In all his life, John would have never been able to do what Sherlock does, even if he tried.

"Wh- Why are being like this?" asked Sherlock, staggering closer towards John.

"Being like what?"

"Nice? Why are you being nice?"

"Can I be honest?"

"Of course."

John chuckled at the tall guy in front of him, "I don't know. And anyway, you told me to leave you alone this morning for the future, so why are YOU being nice to me?"

Sherlock copied John, however his laugh was more like a deep, low-toned laugh while made John smile to himself, "Can I be honest to you John?"

"Yeah, sure."

"I don't know either."


	5. Chapter 5

Days later-after his first day of school- John was sat on the radiators in the hallway with Sally and the rest of her friends he met the other day. The week seemed to pass by really fast and before John knew it, it was Friday.

It suddenly became very quiet in the group as they all stared at John, except for Sally who wouldn't exactly look him in the eye. Anderson looked like he was going to erupt and Mike just shook his head.

"Alright?" asked John, getting slightly nervous in the group.

"No, we're not alright." said Anderson, then gesturing at his own face, "Does it look like I'm happy John?"

"Well, he's more angry than the rest of us, I'm just disappointed," said Sally, "How was it getting to school today? Didn't get lost like last time?"

"No," said John, unsure of where this was going, "I've been alright all week."

"And why is that John?" asked Sarah.

"I just got used to the place that's all," said John, even though he knew he was lying, "Why? What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong, why do you think there's something wrong?" said Anderson, getting off the radiator and stood in front of John, "We just want to know why you didn't listen to us."

"What do you mean?"

"The first advice I gave you John was to stay away from Sherlock Holmes." said Sally, joining Anderson's side.

"Just leave it out Sally-" interrupted Mike, shuffling in his seat closer to John.

"No, me and Anderson won't leave it out. I told you to stay away from Sherlock Holmes and what do you do? You completely ignore what I say,"

"I- I don't know what you mean, you two are off your head." said John, keeping up his defence.

"No. We're not off our head, you are," Anderson stabbed his finger into John's chest, "My dad gives me a lift to school and every day I see you and that THING walk together when Sally told you not to!"

It was true: both him and Sherlock still walked together in the morning and in the afternoon. His memory wasn't great, but it wasn't terrible either. If he was on his own, John could quite easily get to school but still be a minute or two late. It looked as if Sherlock didn't mind either, even if he told John to stay away from him. They didn't talk to each other, the only thing they did was when they both turned to look at each other, they smiled and nodded towards each other and continued walking.

"So what If I walk with him? It's not exactly a bad thing."

"Oh Jesus here we go-" Sarah put her head in her hands and sighed rather loudly in annoyance. She was sat on the other side of John, keeping quiet for most of the time.

"Not a bad thing?!"said Sally. Anderson was sarcastically laughing at John, Mike and Sarah, "That guy's a freak, alright? You stick around with him for too long and you're going to end up getting hurt."

"Hurt? Why would I get hurt?" asked John.

"He isn't the kind of person you would have a laugh with. Look John, you're new here and the last thing you need is to be friendless. Us four are the only people you have to call us friends. We like you John, you seem like a nice bloke to be around. Take our advice and stay away from him."

John thought about it for a moment. It was true, in that school they were the only people he could call friends and since it was his last year at school, it would be stressful to lose them. But yet he didn't want to listen to them; Sherlock seemed nice, even though he rarely talked much and now and then insulted John. However, when John looked over at Anderson's face, he suddenly realised what would happen if he didn't listen. If Anderson could beat up Sherlock, who says that Anderson can't do the same to John?

"Fine," said John, but then rather loudly said it again, "Fine! I'll take your advice and stay away from him, happy now?"

"Not yet John. You have to promise us that you won't speak to him again," said Sally.

"This is all a bit over the top, it's not like he's a disease."

"Look John!" said Anderson, getting rather impatient, "Just swear on your life that you won't get involved with him,"

"Look, swearing on my life is a bit-"

"SWEAR ON IT JOHN!"

"Okay, just calm down," said John, "I swear on my life that I will not get involved with Sherlock Holmes, now are we done here?"

"Yes, it took a while John. You just have to realise we're good people to have on your side; bad if we aren't." said Anderson. Sitting back down on the radiator, they all started to talk about what they were going to do on the weekend. John thought of walking around town to get a feel of the place; to know every nook and cranny visible to the naked eye. The only problem was how was he going to do it.

* * *

"So I told them that I swore my life on it, which I didn't mean, which is pretty obvious," said John as he walked down the road with Sherlock at his side, "He seems really pissed off with you, Sally also."

"I don't know why that is. All I said to them was that they were sleeping together and had been for a year. I didn't threaten them by telling the teacher. I said nothing which could tick him off like that."

"Are you kidding me? Sherlock, you can't just say stuff like that,"

"Why not? It was perfectly obvious to me, that's all."

"Well it wasn't nice. Impolite? Yes. Nice? No." said John, "But really though, Anderson and Sally?"

"Why do you sound so surprised?"

"I don't know, just a bit of an eye opener really."

The roads were packed with impatient drivers and tiresome passengers as they got caught in the Friday's rush. Drivers had the sudden urges to beep their car horn even if they weren't moving, and it did them no good either. Pedestrians were also in a rush to get to wherever they are going, constantly barging into Sherlock's or John's shoulders without a mutter of apologies.

"Is that why you suggested we go a different route home? Because you don't want Anderson to see you? Bit cowardly don't you think?" said Sherlock.

"It's not cowardly, I mean it is but have you seen Anderson? Well, obviously you have, so you know what he's like when things don't go the way he wants things to go. I just thought he could have done the same thing to me as he did to you."

Sherlock didn't reply to that, instead he shrugged his shoulders and continued to walk. It seemed like John hurt Sherlock's feelings but it couldn't have been that, he didn't look like the type to get his feelings hurt so easily. John thought he should say something to break the awkward silence growing between the two.

"So what are you doing this weekend?"

"Home probably." said Sherlock, "I guess I have to be polite and ask what _you're_ doing this weekend?"

"Well, I thought of having a walk around town and get to know the place. Know where the best places are to hang out and stuff and hopefully learn the route off by heart."

"It will take you more than two days to fully memorise the place. London is full different routes and places to be discovered, it took me three years to get it memorised."

"Well you could show me around!" said John openly. Even Sherlock stopped at the sudden outburst of the offer, luckily they were just outside John's house.

"Show you around?"

"Yeah, like you can show me the different places. Like where the best libraries, shops, cafes or hangouts are. Since you know where you're going most of the time I thought it wouldn't be a bad idea."

"Like all weekend?"

"Yes, well no. Not 24/2 but for a couple of hours. We could go to that Angelo place you were talking about, make an outing out of it!"

Sherlock slightly hesitated, still looking shocked about what he had just been asked. John could see that Sherlock was a bit shocked, which surprised him. It was the most oddest expression John has seen from him yet.

"Fine." said Sherlock, but shouted it was more what he did.

"So yeah?" For some reason, John was getting slightly excited.

"Yeah, why not? I guess it's better than spending all weekend with Mycroft. 11'o clock on Saturday?" said Sherlock.

"I guess it's a date then." said John before walking into his house, kicking himself about what he just said.

* * *

**AU:**

**Sorry that I didn't upload on Saturday/Sunday. I will still upload another chapter this weekend to catch up. Thank you for reading :) Review if you think I did something wrong(or right) and I'll listen with patience/happiness :)**

**SJ**


	6. Chapter 6

**I promised that I'll upload a chapter this weekend, and I did! Next chapter up next weekend.**

* * *

While pacing back and forth in his small, secluded room, John was cursing the moment he said 'I guess it's a date then'. In 30 minutes, Sherlock was going to ring on his doorbell and in that moment, he will have to face Sherlock even though he really didn't want to. This was the reason why John wished he had Sherlock's phone number; they could schedule another weekend, any weekend besides this weekend. It didn't make any sense as to why John was acting like this; never in his life had he been more nervous than he is now, starting school was trouble-free compared to this. It was only Sherlock: some random stranger he met a week ago when he was lost.

Somehow time caught up with him when he heard the doorbell ring downstairs. John restrained himself from running downstairs to meet him, it could look needy so he let his mum get the door. Checking himself in the mirror, he heard his mother call him.

"John!" she called from the stairs, "Sherlock's here!"

"Right! Give me a minute!" he called back, unplugging his phone from his charger and putting it in his pocket before running back downstairs to meet them.

"Hey Sherlock!" said John.

"Before you leave, promise me you'll call me every 2 hours. I mean it John Hamish Watson, when I say every 2 hours I mean it." said his mother, pointing firmly at the clock on her watch.

"Mum, I'm 15 years old. I think I'm capable of looking after myself."

"I know John, just be careful out there. You've only been here for two months, you could get lost. London is a very big place full of god knows what."

"Which is why I have Sherlock to show me around," said John. With a wave of his hand, he headed outside with Sherlock following behind, "I'll be fine! I'll see you later!"

As his mother closed the door after watching them walk down the street, John gave a sigh of relief as his quick walking pace lost its speed.

"Sorry about that. She's alright, don't get me wrong, but she can be over the top at times. Mind you, what would you expect from mum's, eh?" Sherlock seemed quieter than usual, which was very worrying, perhaps terrifying, "What's up?"

"I assume you mean-"

"Yes, I mean how are you feeling?"

"Fine, you?"

"Yeah, alright. Friday night wasn't so bad, we decided to celebrate my first week at a new school by going to the pub. That meant having to have responsibility for my drunken family."

"Especially your sister, after breaking up with Clara . Long distant relationships don't usually work out. Over in a matter of weeks."

"I haven't even told you about my sister being gay, how did you even know that?"

"Before you came downstairs your sister passed your mum and I. Your mum asked Harry how she was doing and she replied by saying she was fine. Then she asked how was Clara and your sister started to go on about how she used to love her but hoped to never see her again."

"Jesus, really? Sorry you had to be there for that."

"It's fine. Anyway, this whole tour guide business is starting to get boring. What do you need me for exactly?"

"You've been here longer than me, and since you're kind of my friend I thought we should get to know each other more," said John.

"Friend?" Sherlock gave out a mocking laugh, "I don't have friends."

"Fine, and since you're kind of an _acquaintance _to me. Is that better? Or are we still strangers? Even though you know every single detail about my life."

"Well I wouldn't say every detail, being a bit over dramatic there John. I mean I don't know where you were born, where your parents were born or where your sister was born. The rest I have a brief understanding of."

"Well, that's great then isn't it?" said John, who couldn't contain his laugh, "You don't know where I was born but you know everything else? That's perfectly fine."

After walking for about 30 minutes, John properly stared at Sherlock and what he was wearing. Compared to what John was wearing: a pair of jean and an old jumper from under his drawer; Sherlock was far more formal for a Saturday. Usually, an average teenager would wear something like what John was wearing at that moment, but Sherlock wasn't. Instead, he was wearing something very alike to his school uniform . Sherlock wore a black, newly ironed blazer with a white shirt and a black pair of trousers that were a little too tight for him. Over all this, Sherlock wore a thick, black trench coat and a black scarf. Considering the weather was clear and sunnier than it was in summer, he still decided to wear the coat which amazed John even more.

"Alright there?" said John. Sherlock just looked at him with confusion, "You're not in the slightest bit hot wearing that?"

He never did get an answer because at that moment, Sherlock stopped in his tracks and turned to face a building which they nearly passed. When looking up at the sign, he realised that they had reached the restaurant Sherlock was talking about, practically full of Saturday shoppers taking a quick brake from the rush. Still-just like in the weekday- they were getting shoved by people passing them, it's something they can't escape.

"Why are we here?" asked John, checking the clock on his phone for the time. It was quarter to eleven.

"You wanted to see Angelo's, so here we are. If you want to go inside that's fine by me, it's on the house here. Well, for me at least."

"Well, we could have an early lunch I guess. Sure, why not?" said John. They both walked in, Sherlock holding the door open for John, and were met by the strong smell of meats and types of dishes which danced in John's senses. While waiting in the queue for a table, a man with fairly long hair and a thick stubble walked up to them with two menus at hand; he was smiling at the pair when he walked up to them, which frightened John in a way.

"Well if it isn't Sherlock Holmes!" he said with delight before pushing them out of the queue and into the centre of the room. Behind him, John could hear the complaints from people in the queue, "Haven't seen you since your birthday! Getting taller already are you?"

"Yes I am, that's what happens when you get older." said Sherlock. They were then sat at a table beside the window, giving them a full view of the restaurant and the street. The sun was blazing hot, it's ray of light shone on their table but out of view from their eyes.

"Hasn't changed one bit, have you?," said Angelo, handing them both menus, "Anything on the menu, whatever you want, free. On the house for you and your date."

"Look I'm not his date," said John in his defence, but Angelo took no notice.

"This kid got me off a theft charge." said Angelo with pride, patting Sherlock firmly on his back.

"This is Angelo. Last year I proved to the police that Angelo wasn't house-breaking when in actual fact he was."

"And why would you do that?" asked John.

"It was Anderson's house," said Sherlock, "I wasn't going to say anything."

"He cleared my name," said Angelo.

"Yes I did. Any you won't do it in the future, will you? Because I won't back you up again."

"I won't, I have learned from my mistakes and I swear to never do it again. Anyway, I'll get a candle for the table, it's more romantic." said Angelo, before walking into the kitchen, just in time before John could refuse again.

"So anyway, about this whole I don't have friends thing, why do you say that?" asked John while glazing his eyes over the menu in delight.

"The whole idea of friends sounds dull."

"So you don't have friends then? Do you have people in your life who you like? Hate? Girlfriends?"

"Not really my area," he said, throwing the menu to one side, leaning forward and placing his elbows onto the table.

"So you don't have a girlfriend then?"

"Girlfriend? No, like I said, it's not really my area."

"Oh, right. So does that mean you-" the tension between them grew uneasy, "have a boyfriend then? Which is fine by the way-"

"I know it's fine."

"Oh, so that means you have a boyfriend then." asked John. Sherlock just shook his head at him, "Right, so you're unattached, like me then. Okay then."

Hoping that the conversation would drop, John signalled over Angelo so that he could order his food. When he reached the table, John told him what he wanted while Sherlock just asked for a glass of water. A few minutes after Angelo left the table, Sherlock briefly tugged at the collar of his shirt as if it were tight on him.

"Look John, I think you ought to know that I consider myself in a relationship with my experiments and while I'm flattered, I hope you should know that I'm not-"

"No! No, God no. I was...just asking, that's all. Just wondered, it's all fine." said John, lowering his head so that Sherlock couldn't see him blush with embarrassment.

"Thank you."

If it wasn't fast enough, John's food and Sherlock's drink arrived at their table before anyone could make any apology that they hoped to say. The steam from John's plate hit his face as he breathed in the satisfying aroma of the spices in the dish. His senses already kicked in as his mouth started to water from the smell of it; picking up his fork, he stabbed it into the first piece.

"Anyway, that was a bad example you used." said John, taking a first bite of his meal, "Experiments only last a week or two."

"It a complicated relationship." said Sherlock, taking a sip of his drink.

Both smiled to themselves as they helped themselves to their order. They have only been out for an hour and already John has made a mess of things. It did make him feel miserable though, that Sherlock didn't consider him a friend even though they were sat in the middle of a restaurant talking as if they were friends.

What's the matter with having friends anyway? It's like Sherlock saw them as a weakness; best to avoid at all costs. John's idea was the more friends the better. Hopefully-John thought- by the end of the month he can convince to Sherlock that having friends can protect you; even if it won't take a month, maybe a year, John wasn't going to give up easily.

* * *

**AU: I am slowly building up their relationship to the final point, so please bear with me. Feel free to review/follow/favourite or wait patiently for the next chapter(sorry, it will only be a week) :)**


	7. Chapter 7

The library itself was a small building that stood in the middle of a fairly deserted street. When it came to the shop's popularity, there were very little people making the trip inside. This did come across John's mind as he entered with Sherlock at his side. That was the problem with people these days; hardly anyone visited the library anymore. Just recently, he read in the newspaper that they were closing down 100 libraries in England this year. The thought of it was quite upsetting to John; to people, they might just be books but to John, it was his main source of entertainment through childhood. It's what got him through the good times when the bad times were so rough.

Even though it looked small and cramped on the outside- being surrounded by more modern building- inside the shop was a much different story. In every corner and open space was a bookshelf overflowing with books of different genres and interests. The old, book smell filled the air and soon enough, John's lungs. Breathing in with bliss, he entered inside and followed Sherlock. Each book held a story, dying to be discovered in the over packed shelves with the rest of them. At the very front of the building, a woman sat at the reception desk looking at a computer as if it was an ancient transcript. The pair of glasses which sat at the tip of her nose was pushed further towards her eyes as she tried to focus on the screen.

"Mrs Hudson," said Sherlock, getting her attention. Smiling at the pair, she got up from her seat and rushed over to Sherlock and gave him a hug which he happily returned.

"Sherlock, I haven't seen you since you were this high," she hovered her flat hand out in mid air, just below Sherlock's shoulder, "What brings you here then? And I don't believe we've met."

She was now looking at John with wonder, as if his presence was a pure mystery, "John Watson, I've just moved here and Sherlock's just showing me around." said John, shaking her hand as lightly as he could, as if she was fine china.

"Hello John. I'm Mrs Hudson. You won't need me to show you around here, you have Sherlock for that. If I wanted to it wouldn't be any good, for some reason I'm getting these pains in my hip. The doctor's told me to rest on it and it still does no good. Well, don't let me keep you, have a look around. You two are out of the few that have visited this morning."

Looking around the room, John was stuck for choice on where to go first; it was like getting stuck in a labyrinth that he didn't want to leave. The sections which stood in front of him were studying books, history and romance; neither of those sounded interesting to him.

"So what do you want to do now?" asked John, who started to walk further into the library with Sherlock.

"It's obvious you're trying to look for something here. A type of genre perhaps?" said Sherlock, randomly he picked up a book from the shelf and put it back, "Didn't think romance was your preferred genre?"

"No it isn't. I hate those types of books. I'm actually looking for-"

"Science Fiction and Fantasy? Well first of all you're in the wrong place. It's this way." When they reached the end of the bookshelves, Sherlock took a sharp turn to the left and walked further down until they reached a small section in the corner.

"You can look around you know, you don't have to follow me," said John, realising Sherlock was still standing next to him, "Do you have a favourite kind of book?"

"Crime, mystery, classical and psychology. And I don't need to look around; I've read most of these books anyway."

"You can't seriously mean all of these books; you know that's virtually impossible. And if you did, you must have started reading these when you were like five or something."

"And?"

"Wait, so you're telling me you have read all these books starting when you were five?"

"Yes," said Sherlock, slightly irritated but amused at John's reaction, "I don't see what's wrong with that."

"Okay then." Whenever John saw something which looks remotely interesting, he picked it up, scanned its content and put it back in its place, "What time is it now?"

"Thirteen past one, why?"

"I just wondered, that's all. Wait, so how long have we been out? We couldn't have been out for that long; we left at eleven didn't we?"

"Nearly two hours. Oh yes, you have to call your mother, don't you. Well, don't keep me from stopping you."

Grabbing his phone from his pocket, he dialled his home number and waited for someone to answer. Looking over to Sherlock, he mouthed 'sorry' at him before he heard a voice on the other end of the call.

"John! Is that you? You're alright are you? Please tell me you're all right, if you're not then come home right now."

"Mum! I'm fine. I'm absolutely fine, stop panicking."

"I'm sorry John; I'm just worried that's all. There's nothing wrong with being worried about my only son is there?"

"No, of course not."

"Good, well call me back in two hours and be careful out there. Tell me all about what you did when you get home alright?"

"Yeah, fine. Call you later." And with that, John cut the call and put the phone back into his pocket.

"Well that's out of the way." asked John, moving towards the crime section of the library. "What do you like about these kinds of books?"

"Crime? Well, the first few chapters are why I read them. By the time I've gone through a third of the book I already know happens at the end. Sometimes I only read up to a certain amount of chapters and then plan out what will happen."

"Why don't you just read the whole thing? Saves you more time." said John, picking up the closest book available at arm's reach, "Anyway, where do you want to go now?"

"John, I'm supposed to be the 'tourist guide' here. Where do you want to go? Personally, I would like to return home to finish my experiment on different animal's eyes reacting with different solutions."

"You could show me!" said John, slightly louder than it should have been. Actually, he wished he hardly said anything at all. Putting the book back in its place, he turned around and started to walk towards the exit.

"What?" said Sherlock, following closely behind him.

"Well you keep talking about these different experiments you do, so maybe you could show me, since you're always talking about it."

"John," said Sherlock, sounding quite concerned but intrigued at the same time, "Are you inviting yourself to my home?"

"Wait, no. When you put it like that it sounds as if I'm being a stalker, which I'm not. I mean I only met you on Monday. No, I'm just suggesting."

"Well, I guess if you wanted to-"

"What?"

"Well, I wasn't going to show anyone my experiments because no one has ever been interested in them before. But if you're asking, then I don't see a problem with it. Just as long as you don't touch anything, contaminate anything or move anything around then you can stay for as long as you need to."

"Oh, alright then. I hope I won't be any bother, I know how important these experiments are to you and all that."

Finally, they reached the reception; they said their goodbyes to Mrs Hudson before they left library and started to walk towards Sherlock's house. In theory, what they were doing was going a little too fast. After all, they only met each other on Monday, like he said. So why was he asking to go to Sherlock's house? What John could agree with was that his curiosity of Sherlock was getting too close to the tipping point.

Soon enough, people at his school will know about this. They will constantly mock him, possibly torment him for even knowing Sherlock's name. What if they find out that he was going to Sherlock's house? What if Anderson finds out? Well, one thing's for sure, if Sherlock was the way he is now, then what are his parents going to be like?

* * *

**WRITER'S NOTE:**

**Sorry if there is any grammatical mistakes. This was rushed in a way, I was trying to keep my promise of uploading it on Sunday, and I did! So yeah, there might be an update in the weekday because of half term, so keep an eye out :)**


	8. Chapter 8

Speechless. That was John's instant reaction when walking into Sherlock's living room. Well, it wasn't really much of a shock to him; in fact, he was expecting something formal and sophisticated. It wasn't a large room when he stood in the middle of it, but the way the colours of the furniture and walls merged together made it seem like a work of art. The dark black of the leather chairs and sofa fitted well between the oak tables and bookshelves. Besides John's house, every ornament was set in a continuous pattern; there wasn't a painting or book out of place. In a way, John felt suddenly out of place, as if he didn't belong in a place like this. The sudden urge to run down the stairs and out of the building was tempting to John, but a sudden stir from the sofa made John and Sherlock froze in their places.

"Sherlock?" a hand lifted off the arm of the chair and angled towards them, "Is that you?"

"Yes mother it's me." he walked over to her, who was sitting in front of the fire; doing nothing other than stare at the flames flicker up the chimney, "How are you feeling?"

"Oh I'm fine Sherlock. And I see you brought company," his mother turned around and faced John. She was everything John expected: Sherlock's eyes, Sherlock's curly hair and the shape of his lips; she was the spitting image of him, "John Watson I presume?"

"Yes Mrs Holmes," he walked over to her and took her hand to shake, "It's a pleasure meeting you. To be honest, Sherlock's told me little about you I'm afraid."

"I can say the same for you," when John tried to pull his hand away, she gripped his hand more firmly, "You have recently moved here from Durham after being involved in a violent attack that injured you. I can tell because of the way you walk and your accent seems less common that people with accents from London. You were stabbed in the shoulder, even though you're limping. You're limping is because you're still in trauma, the nightmares don't help either. The bags under your eyes show that. So you've recently moved from Durham to start a new life with people who won't know about your past...am I right?"

Sherlock must have told her, he must have. How else could she know about that, unless this weird talent of theirs runs in the family. Finally she let go of his hand and awaited patiently for him to reply.

"Yes, well not exactly about everything. But the rest you were spot on."

"What do you mean 'not exactly'? What did I get wrong John Watson?"

"Well, instead of Durham, I was born in York. But I do have relatives who live in Durham." he said, trying not to hurt her feelings, "But I have to ask, did Sherlock tell you anything about me?"

"Of course he didn't. You know teenagers, well you are one yourself. Very private and secretive people who won't even tell their own mothers about their first friend."

"First friend?" asked John, who was looking at Sherlock, "What do you mean by that?"

"Well, what I'm saying is-"

"Experiments! I'm sure I had some experiments to do. Can't stay long mother, have to be moving on now." said Sherlock as he walked towards the door, pushing John along with him. However, they were stopped by the door opening in front of them, blocking their way. Through the door entered two men, both were dressed in dark grey suits and were now staring down at John who was feeling definitely out of place.

"Hello Sherlock, you didn't tell me you would be having a 'friend' around," the taller man walked past the two and towards Sherlock's mother. The man bent down and gently kissed her forehead before retrieving to the whisky cabinet to pour himself a drink, "so you must be John. Before you ask how I know your name, you should know that I am immensely connected to the British government and so is Mycroft. Well, he will be with time."

"Sherlock." said Mycroft plainly before copying his father's moves. He kissed his mother's forehead before pouring himself brandy from the cabinet, "John."

"How's the diet?" asked Sherlock before turning around to face his family, "Or have you given up already?"

"Fine. The diet's going fine. You know John," he occupied the chair next to his mother, "you're the fourth person to put up with his 'talent' for more than four days. The rest of us suffer silently, even if we do have the same deduction skills as he does. He just likes to show them off more. But families have to 'stick together' apparently. Are you close to your family John?"

"Wait, me? Well- um," John was starting to panic. He was regretting not making a run for it at the very start.

"Mycroft, that's quite enough," Mr Holmes was now walking over to John and Sherlock, smirking at them both who were slowly walking towards the door, "It is true though. We do have the same deduction skills. For instance, I know that you have the urge to run out of this room and back home to where your 'normal' family are. You keep reaching for your phone in your pocket and checking the time on the wall, you have certain times on when you have to call your mother but you feel like calling her right now don't you?"

Something about this room seemed very uneasy. Sherlock's father had just called his family normal, which they were far from. Everyone in the room seems to know every little detail about his life. Mycroft keeps looking at the pair, but mostly at John. Mrs Holmes just sat in her chair and continued to stare at the fire while Sherlock continued to stare at her.

"Like I said," said Sherlock, opening the door for him and John. Straight away, John rushed out of the room and waited for Sherlock to follow, "I have experiments to do. "

* * *

Surprised. If John had to describe his first reaction to Sherlock's bedroom it would be surprised. It was nothing like Sherlock. The floor was hardly visible due to the fact that it was piled with clothes, books, papers and John swore that he could see a human hand. In the corner of the room was a simple bed; it was the only thing in the room which look the slightest bit clean. On the other side of the room was a lab setup on his desk.

"So this is where I have spent most of my life so far in. Don't step on anything you're unsure about and yes, that was a hand you saw. It's best if I don't explain, it saves the trouble." said Sherlock, walking over to his desk while chucking his coat on the floor.

"Well this is unexpected. I was expecting something-" he paused, while trying to step over unknown objects on the floor. With one swing of his legs, he fell onto the bed after standing up for most of the day.

"Clean?" He laughed, "Far from it. Why? Does it bother you?"

"Oh no, of course not. It's your room after all."

John looked over at Sherlock, who was starting on his experiment in the far corner. Talking to break the tension seemed like a bad idea; Sherlock looked as if he was lost in what he was doing. This left John to just sit where he was and do nothing but stare at Sherlock and whatever he was doing.

"So-" John lifted himself off the bed; his leg was already tensing up, "This whole experiment will different eyes and stuff, how does that work?"

Looking up at John, he gave out an irritated sigh and grabbed a flask next to him, "I start will different types. Here I have dog's eyes, human eyes, fish eyes, etc. Then I have different chemicals such as hydrochloric acid, dilute sodium hydroxide or nitric acid. Then I would mix the two see what happens."

"And?" John moved closer towards the table and was now standing closely on the other side of the desk. It seems as if Sherlock didn't even notice what he was doing, considering that was one of his rules: to keep away from his experiments.

"Well most solutions make the human eyes bloodshot. Sodium hypochlorite changes the colour of dog eyes, considering this chemical is mostly found in bleach. Most of the chemicals I got from everyday objects such as drain cleaners, rat poison. Even air freshners. Experimenting with the fish eyes wasn't a reliable test, considering that the chemicals would make the eyes waste away. Overall, I can say that the chemical which has an effect on any type of eyes the most is the Sodium Hypochlorite, but I can't be sure so I will have to-"

Sherlock was interrupted as a pair of lips collided with his own. Taken aback, he held up his hands in defence as John moved his lips, trying to get a reaction out of Sherlock. The taller boy didn't know what he was doing, but John did; John just wanted him to shut up. John was the only one who was moving his lips; the whole situation was very awkward, but even though Sherlock wasn't reacting to the kiss, he didn't stop. John couldn't bring himself to look Sherlock in the eye; closing his eyes really tight so that he couldn't looK. Who was he kidding? He has repeated this to himself for the past week: He had only just met Sherlock on Monday. In theory, he was kissing a random stranger; this wasn't right.

How could John lie to himself? He wanted this. He had always wanted this. Ever since Sherlock deduced his life story, John knew that Sherlock was someone you shouldn't let go of so easily. His talents were breath taking. His appearance was amazing. His intelligence was fantastic. Sherlock was perfection. John hoped that Sherlock would suddenly realise that there was something between the two, but as he opened his eyes, his hopes shattered.

It was Sherlock who stopped the whole situation. Pushing John back, he stared at the shorter man in disgust, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. John's back hit the wall hard. Staring up at Sherlock, he felt as if he made a terrible mistake. But it was too late, he couldn't take back what he had done.

"I- I'm- Sherlock-" John couldn't bring himself to finish his sentence, because he was already pushing past Sherlock and running out the flat as if his life depended on it.

* * *

AUTHOR'S NOTE(Clear up a couple of stuff):

Please bear with me. This is the first Johnlock scene I have ever wrote. I've read plenty of them, but writing is another story. I felt so embarrased while writing it, so sorry if it didn't turn out as you hoped it would, but fear not! It is soon the end of the beginning!

I wrote this story on my iPad so the spelling might be wrong. Sorry about that.

On a final note, I hope you're not expecting Sherlock to be all lovey dovey, far from it in fact! I intend to make him a sociopath who will eventually learn, like the Grinch!

Sorry if any of this makes you annoyed or angry, but bear with me. I am just getting started with this.

P.S There will be an update this weekend :)


	9. Chapter 9

Wondering through the streets on his own, John thought over and over again what would happen now after that unforgetting moment. It was now 5'o clock; he had spent at least two hours trying to get back home, but it seemed so difficult. Or was it three hours? He wasn't entirely sure. Most of the buildings looked the same; nothing looked familiar to him. Often, he would try and stop someone for directions, but no one would stop to even give him the time of day.

It was his own fault anyway. When he was suppose to be learning directions and routes around town, he was instead distracted by Sherlock. John couldn't believe it. Well, he couldn't believe many things. The idea of being gay never came across John's mind; he had girlfriends before, the only problem was the relationship didn't last. Old friends used to joke about him being gay, due to the fact that he wore clothes they considered not manly enough.

Reaching for the phone in his pocket, he wanted to call his mum to pick him up. Instead, he was starting at a black screen which refused to turn on. There was no power left. He was in a random street in London with no way of contacting for help. For the second time that day, John was starting to panic.

As it got darker, the streets started to fill with people on a night out, already drunk out of their heads. An alley was coming up towards him, so instead of staying on the main street like his father told him to, he turned to the left and walked further into the darkness. Being in the passage made John feel slight nauseous with fear. But as he passed a set of ladders on his side, he realised this could be his way back home. Wiping his hands on his shirt, John firmly gripped the bars and started to pull himself up. At times he tried to cover his hands with his sleeves, but failed whenever he nearly slips.

Once he reached the top of the building, he climbed off the ladder and stood up straight; looking at the breath-taking scenery before him. The sun was settling down behind the buildings, a ray of orange and red striking the sky as darkness started to appear from above. If he could, John would have stayed there forever, constantly watching the top of London gleam with life as his troubles would melt away. But this was merely a petty wish.

"Do you plan on standing there forever?" A voice appeared from behind him. Swirling around-his leg tensing from the movement- towards the voice, he was greeted by none other than Sherlock, who appeared to be sitting on the edge of the roof, legs dangling over the side.

"Wha- What are you doing up here?" asked John, cautiously moving closer towards him; remembering the last time he did this he was pushed against a wall, "And how did you find me?"

"My family wouldn't stop questioning me about why you left in such a rush, even thought they had a basic idea. You couldn't seem to hide your flustered cheeks or dilated pupils well enough. To answer their question I left the flat and told them I would be back later. I didn't come up here, intending to meet you here. I sat here because it's out of the way. The only reason we are here now is because of pure coincidence."

"Is it though? Look Sherlock," slowly, trying not to lose his balance, he sat down next to Sherlock but as far away from him as possible, "I'm sorry about- well you know. What I did wasn't called for. I was stupid and shouldn't have put you in that situation. I hope this doesn't ruin anything, because you seem like an alright even though you act like a dickhead."

"John I am willing to offer you a proposition. If you wish to accept then good, but if not then it would put us in a terrible position." said Sherlock, ignoring John's insult.

"Go on." John shuffled closer towards him, but not too close so Sherlock wouldn't be uncomfortable.

"My mind works in a way in which normal minds don't. I have a method of retrieving a piece of my memory and permanently deleting them from my hard drive. I am willing to forget the whole thing that happened earlier on and never speak of it again."

"Really? You can just forget something like that and never speak of it again?"

"Yes, like I said. Do keep up John. If you're willing to forget, then I'm willing to forget."

"But what if I don't want to forget?" asked John, receiving a heavy, irritated sigh from Sherlock.

"Then I will still delete it from my hard drive. It only takes a few seconds, if I delete it we can forget the whole thing and continue with our lives."

"Fine. Whatever. Just do what you have to do, I guess I'm willing to forget. Like you said, it only takes a few seconds, right?"

"Precisely." said Sherlock. Resting his elbows on his knees, Sherlock leaned forward and placed his hands below his chin and closed his eyes. John guessed Sherlock was already in the process of deleting it from his memory, so John tried to do the same. Closing his eyes, he tried to focus on deleting it from his own mind. Reaching back to the memory, he tried to recover it and remove it permanently. Thinking he had done it, he opened his eyes and saw Sherlock was still in the same position as he was before.

It was at this moment that John saw how calm Sherlock looked with his eyes closed. John loved the way the sun reflected onto his face, how his raven hair was swaying in the- Wait, what was he saying?

"Done!" Sherlock swung his legs back up on the ground and got up from his seat.

"Done? So that's it?" asked John, following Sherlock's movement before joining at his side.

"Hate to sound like your mother but shouldn't you be home now?" Sherlock started to walk on the roofs again just like they did before, only this time their pace was much more slower, "Unless you don't know where your home is."

"Right again Sherlock. I know you say I should learn these streets off by heart but-"

"Not to worry. However you do seem know a bit more about the area. Your house is only over there." Sherlock was right, somehow, he was only a street away from his house.

Luckily for them, they just reached the front door of John's house before the alley they just left was flooding with drunken adults who probably spent most of Friday night and Saturday morning drinking. Walking ahead of Sherlock, John rushed towards the front of his house and waited for Sherlock to catch up.

"You know," he opened the gate and then closed it behind him, "Remember what I said about showing me around all weekend? Well, I probably have stuff to do tomorrow so I'd be busy."

"Not to worry John." turning on his heel, he slowly continued to walk down the street. Circling around again, he faced John while walking backwards and called, "See you on Monday!"

After Sherlock turned the corner and out of his sight, John continued to stare down the street. Was it because of fear? Or shock? John didn't really know, the day has been confusing enough as it is. And what did his mother mean about his 'first friend'? It must have meant that he was Sherlock's first ever friend, even though that sounds hard to believe.

"John!" he turned to find his mother looking as if she'd seen a ghost. If John would have guessed, she had been crying, but he wasn't gone for that long, was he? John didn't have time to prepare himself before his mother ran up to clasp him in her grip.

"Where the hell have you been?!" she released him and pushed him into the house, "I've been worried sick! Your father's been worried sick-"

"I haven't been worried sick!" his sister was sat at the bottom of the stairs, sneering at John who was being pushed by force, "In fact, I hope you stayed wherever you were and gave us peace for the night, but I couldn't even have that."

"Shut up Harriet!" she slammed the door behind her and pointed next to Harry. Dropping his phone on the side table, John nudged Harry aside and sat back; his head resting on the next step, "Now John you said you were going to call me every two hours, and what do you do? Yeah, you did it the first time but after that-"

"The battery on my phone died and anyway, nothing bad actually happened to me, so I don't know why you're like this."

"I'm a mother. It's my job to be worried; to be scared; to be caring. Why can't you see that? And ever since what happened in York-"

"I thought we weren't going to talk about that anymore. Look-" he got up from the step, his sister tripping him on the way, and walked over to his mother who was pinching the bridge of her nose, "I know you're worried, sometimes I am too. Actually, while out there I was terrified. But you have to trust me. You won't always be there to watch me, so at times I'll have to look after myself. Alright?"

Raising her head, him mother looked up at John. Looking into her eyes was the most hardest thing he could do; in a way, he let her down and this truly troubled him, "Goodnight mum."

"But it's not late. Stay downstairs for a bit. I'll put the kettle on make you a nice cup of tea?"

"No, you're alright. I'm tired anyway, I'll just have an early night." Kissing his mother's forehead, he grabbed his phone before walking up the stairs, making sure to kick Harry along the way, "Goodnight!"

"Fuck off!" shouted Harry.

"HARRIET!" shouted his mother, "Goodnight John!"

* * *

John guessed it was one of those nights where he wouldn't be getting any sleep, which didn't bother him, anything to avoid the nightmare's away. It never came across John's mind that his ceiling was extremely plain, as he stared up at it. The coffee keeping him awake had now turned cold, but he still drank it for the caffeine.

Closing his eyes, he tried yet again to forget what happened earlier on. When John thought about it, the whole process was very simple. He imagined himself retrieving the memory and placing it in the bin of his mind. If only it was that easy, simply throwing something away would save him the trouble, but he couldn't. How could he? The thought of them both kissing was still in the back of his mind. The way he rested his hands on Sherlock's cheekbones. His soft lips against his own. He even remembered how much he wanted it to happen.

Forget the whole thing? Like that was going to happen.


	10. Chapter 10

Weeks went by; he finally reached the last day of the first term. Even though every Y11 student had to revise for their practice exams for when they get back, everyone was excited. Not because of the countless hours of getting lost in notes that they don't understand, but because of the Halloween party coming up. Apparently is was something that Y11's do from different schools. Y11's from different schools would meet up at this one venue and were held there against their will there unless they were drunk out of their heads, then they were allowed to leave.

After watching his sister for much of his adolescent life, getting drunk wasn't on his list of things to do. Seeing her drunk put John off the whole idea of even looking at the stuff, but since it was a party that everyone was going to, he couldn't say no in fear that people wouldn't accept him. It wasn't all bad, Sally and the rest were going to be there. However, Sherlock was refusing to go; to him, social events reminds you why you never made friends with those people in the first place. John tried to persuade Sherlock to go; he was even begging him to go at one point, but Sherlock said he would rather stay at home and sit with his family and socialize with them instead.

It seemed true when Sherlock said he deleted 'that moment' from his memory, because after that Saturday, they never spoke of it again, or made any jokes about it, to Sherlock it was simply forgotten. But not to John, everyday he remembers that moment and the thought of it makes him so embarrassed that he can't look Sherlock in the eye.

The school day finished and people-mostly Y7's- were running out of the school gates as if they'd been released from prison. Taking his new route, he met up with Sherlock on the corner of an seemingly empty street far away from the school, as it was isolated and unlikely to be passes by anyone John knew. The sense of being seen gave John this sudden adrenalin that he longingly desired, the fear of getting seen by Anderson was exhilarating, after the weeks of getting to know him, John wasn't so afraid of Anderson anymore.

"Are you sure you're not going to this party next Friday? Apparently there's usually 300 people who go, which sounds unlikely. I mean, how can you have 300 people in one place, it's hard to believe." said John.

" I'm certain that I'm not going to this 'party' everyone's going to. It's not going to be a party, it's more like a room filled with idiots."

"Well, I'm going. So does that make me an idiot?"

"Don't get offended John. Practically everyone is." said Sherlock, who didn't get a look at John's stern look.

"Well on another note. We were talking about colleges that we're going to apply for. I said I might go Collin Hills College because it's close. Where are you going to apply?"

"I've been looking at colleges in Kensington."

"In Kensington? So you're not going to one near here?" said John, slightly feeling anxious, "But what about your mum? Won't she be a bit upset?"

"Firstly yes, I'm not going to a college here, why would I go to one near here? Secondly, my mother wouldn't be upset. She will understand and if she doesn't, she will have to."

"Well," said John, slightly taken aback, "Kensington's alright I guess, but you won't know the area. How are you going to socialize? You won't know anyone there."

"Why are you so concerned?"

"I'm not concerned, why would I be concerned? I'm more concerned about how your mum might react when she finds out, you have told her, right?"

"Why should I? We won't have to apply for colleges until next month and until then, I'll keep looking."

"Well If you do choose a college, what are you going to do?" by now they had reached John's house, but instead of Sherlock walking home like he used to do, he entered the house with John. It started a week after John kissed him; at first he thought it was unusual, but afterwards he didn't think much of it and welcomed Sherlock inside without asking questions.

"Psychology, Chemistry...not sure about my other two options but I'll have time to think. You're taking Biology, I guess? Since you have such an interest in becoming a doctor." both were now walking up the stairs and towards John's room. When Sherlock walked inside and sat on the chair next to the desk, John followed behind and closed the door behind him.

"Well I was thinking of joining the army when I was older, you know, like an army doctor." John chose to sit opposite Sherlock on his bed; dumping all of his schoolwork on the bed to finish off for homework.

"The army?" said Sherlock, copying John's movement of dropping his books on the floor. For a moment, John swore he could hear Sherlock's worry, "Really?"

"Well yeah. What's wrong with the army? My dad was in the army, but he's retired now, the same as my granddad."

"Still, it doesn't mean you have to follow in their footsteps."

"Forget me being concerned, why are _you _concerned?"

"I'm not, I just didn't see you as the army type. The army should be interesting enough."

"Yeah, that's what I thought."

The army was always John's first option for what he would do as a job. Of course he knew the dangers of it, but like his father said: It might be dangerous, but when you remember what you're duty is, it's all worthwhile. His mother-on the other hand- wasn't so keen on him joining, but that was what John expected. When Harry found out, she didn't really care, but he could tell she was concerned just like his mother was, or maybe that was all a part of her act.

The time was now half past four; both were still sat in their seats doing homework to get it out of the way. Even Sherlock was making an effort, which amused John since he was constantly hearing Sherlock complain about the work school sets them.

"Do you want to stay for tea?" asked John, "It won't be any bother."

"You know that I don't have time for food consumption so why would you suggest it?"

"I'm going to be honest. My mum just wants to know more about you, god knows why. I think it's because she thinks you're the only person I sit with at school. I haven't told her that you go to a different school but I thought-"

"Fine."

"Fine?" said John, just finishing writing his last sentence before getting up and putting his books on his desk, "So you're staying then? As long as your mum doesn't mind."

"Well, I thought 'fine' meant yes. I'll text my mum to say that I'm staying here for tea,"

"Okay then! I'll just-" said John, shuffling his feet towards the door, "tell my mum you're staying for tea."

Sherlock Holmes was staying for tea. Why did it sound so odd? It was also frightening for John, since he knew about what Sherlock does to people he first meets. Well he already knew about his sister's drinking problem, but what if he says something to his dad? At times his father had a temper, which he would often show on a daily basis. It did scare John at times, but the more it happened, the more John pushed it to the back of his mind.

The only outcome of the night that John was hoping for was that: Sherlock wouldn't drive any of his family up the wall; his father won't lose his temper and he could convince Sherlock to go with him next Friday.

All of this in one night...what time did John say it was again?

* * *

I'm sorry that you had to wait a week for this and only get 1,300 words. This will continue I'm afraid. Apparently I have 40 school days until my exams which determine what I do in college, so during then I'll be revising. In the summer, expect a chunk load of updates and new stories because I'll have the free time.

I'm sorry if it looks like I'm rushing the time span of the story so far, I just wanted to keep this story below 40 chapters.

Again, I'm sorry, but there will still be an update next week :)


	11. Chapter 11

Why was he the only one panicking? Out of every single person sat at the dining table, why did it look like he was the only one who wanted to flip the table and shout at life; stating how incredibly horrid it's been to him. They haven't even ate anything, all of them-except his mother- were sitting at the table staring at whoever was across from them. At times he has dreaded his mother's cooking- considering she's usually late from work- but now he was waiting with baited breath. Looking over at Sherlock, he wondered what Sherlock was thinking, possibly the same thing as John's thinking.

"John!" called his mother from the kitchen. Instantly, John knew what she was going to ask, he just didn't want to do it in the fear of leaving Sherlock which his family, "Help me bring out the food!"

Leaving Sherlock with his sister and father, he walked into the kitchen to only be greeted by a swarm of steam and smoke attacking his face from whatever was in the oven. Surprisingly, his mother was running around-now and then cursing to herself- putting food on plates.

"What's in the oven?" asked John as he ran to the window to let the fumes out.

"Nothing's in the oven John, just hand these out and come back to me." she waved him off with her hand before disappearing somewhere else in the house, leaving John slightly confused and concerned as he had never seen his mother act like that before. Juggling the plates on his arms, he walked down the hall and into the dining room and gently placed the plates of food on the table before scanning the rooms looking for her. Eventually, he found her taking out something dark from the oven and placing it in the bin. When she closed the bin's lid, she turned around and faced John with relief.

"All right, there was something in the oven. But it doesn't matter now, let's just go in." she said before pushing John into the dining room, "I hope you're not allergic to nuts Sherlock."

"Why would you ask that? Are there any in the food?" asked John as he took his seat next to Sherlock, "Why would you put nuts in food?"

"Well, it was on that show wasn't it? You know, the one with them two blokes on those bikes. You know the other day they went to Cornwall and tried something called Stargazy pie."

"What's that?" asked his father, trying to hold back his frustration brought on by her.

"It's like a pie with fish heads poking out of the top of the crust. I personally don't like fish but the way those men described it made me fancy cooking it, but tonight I just stuck to something-"

"So Sherlock," said his father as he tried to cut up the pieces of burnt food on his plate, "John doesn't really talk about you much, god knows why. So why don't you tell us yourself?"

Oh god, this was the moment he wished not to happen. John was only worried that Sherlock would talk too little, or too much. Or that he would boast, and according to Harry, she hates people who boast about their life, unless it was her talking.

"Well, I've lived in London mostly all my life. I live with my parents and older brother and I'm on my last year of High School." he said, taking a bite of the food before pushing the plate away. Instantly John froze as he waited to watch his mothers reaction, but surprisingly, she didn't notice.

"Oh? And what high school is that then?" said Harry, leaning forward and staring directly at both Sherlock and John. So she knew that Sherlock doesn't go to his school, "You know, because John's told us nothing about you. You are from John's class, aren't you?"

"Well not exactly Harry, he goes to a different school close by." said John before Sherlock could reply.

"Wait, so he doesn't go to your school?" asked his mother as she also stared at the two, "Why didn't you tell me this John? I've always said you shouldn't keep stuff from me. I'm not angry, I just wish you told me."

"What a disappointment. She can't admit it, but she is angry with you and I can't blame her. Shame. On. You." she said, emphasising each word.

"Now Harry-" said John, but was cut off by Sherlock's burst of laughter.

"Disappointment?" said Sherlock, amused with himself as he leaned back on his chair, "That's a bit vague isn't it, not after what happened last night?"

This was it, John thought. It's over, everything was gone for. Sherlock's probably going to take five minutes describing her drinking problem, his mother's going to be crying in the corner and if wasn't enough, his dad's most likely going to kick Sherlock out of the house and demand that John should never go near him again.

"Yeah, last night was a bit hectic. I wasn't NOT going to go to a club and drink until the early hours of the morning. Is that a problem?"

"No, but there is a thing called too much drinking. Since we've sat here all you've done is eye up the bottle of wine here," said Sherlock as he picked up the bottle and examined it, "17.5% of alcohol in just a small bottle of wine. Bit too much don't you think?"

"I can drink as much as I want to. And I don't need you telling me otherwise." she said, snatching the bottle away from Sherlock and pouring herself a glass.

"Of course not, goes against the whole purpose of free will, doesn't it?" Sherlock took a long sip of water before turning to look at John's father, "But anyway, enough about your daughter's drinking problem, John's not told me much about you. Care to fill me in on missing gaps?"

The one thing John wished for right now was for his chair to swallow him up and erase him from the room. Flexing his hands, he placed his elbows on the table before running his hands in his hair. God knows what his mother or father was thinking. To tell you the truth, he didn't really want to know.

"Well," said his father. Looking up, he saw his father's hands curl together into a tight ball next to his plate, "John should have told you some stuff already. Moved to London because of my- job and all that."

"Your job? Well, we all know that isn't true Mr Watson so there's no point in telling me nonsense about how your job had something to do with the fact that-"

"Sherlock!" shouted John, covering his hands with his mouth, realising that he was a bit loud in interrupting him, "Um, can I have a word for a minute?"

They both got out of their seat; John walked into the kitchen with Sherlock following behind him. Closing the door behind them both, he leaned against it and gave a sigh of frustration. Sherlock heard this and turned around to look at John.

"Not good?" asked Sherlock, putting his hands in his pockets.

"A bit not good." said John, "Look Sherlock, my parents get easily offended. My father more than my mother. Harry's just a constant bitch. They don't know that you know about what happened because I didn't think it would be important. I mean, are you trying to get yourself killed? You couldn't even last five minutes without pissing people off."

"It's not my fault John that your sister is an alcoholic; your mother is a terrible cook and is blind to the obvious and your father is uncaring with a short temper. I don't even know why I'm here to be honest."

"You know what? I don't know either. You know I thought I would be friendly by inviting you here, considering you tell me that you don't have friends. Fine, I get it. You don't have friends and that's perfectly fine with me. But ask yourself: why am I still here? You say most people hate what you do and push you away whenever you open your mouth, but I don't."

"Look John-"

"No, you listen Sherlock and you listen well. I have put up with all your shit and its only been two months, not even that. You could at least treat me with a bit of respect, you ungrateful git."

"John I'm-"

"And why are you here? You hardly eat and you just told me that my family are _the_ family from hell. Fine I admit it, there not a walk in the park but neither are yours. Your dad is a psychopath. Your brother is a psychopath. Your mum is just your mum. And what makes it all worse is that you are so alike that it's unbelievable. You even hate to admit it yourself but it's true, you and your family are just alike. So tell me Sherlock, why are you here when you could be with your family?"

To John, all that seemed like a mouthful; it just all came out at once. Sherlock's face was unreadable, as always. That also made John slightly annoyed, that Sherlock could be completely emotionless to situations like this.

"John, I'm sorry if I've offended you, but I think I should leave." said Sherlock. That was the first time John had ever heard Sherlock apologize, and even if it was, it just sounded fake. Like he was saying it to spare feelings even though Sherlock knew he was right. John stepped away from the door and opened it again. Both of them walked to the front door; John took Sherlock's coat and bag and handed them to him. John nodded at Sherlock, before opening the front door. Sherlock swiftly moved outside before slamming the door shut. Again, that was the second time John wished never happened. If life was a human being, John would be willing to punch them in the face.

* * *

Sherlock never said sorry and if he did, it was only to win an argument by shocking the other. But this time, he actually meant it, and that wasn't normal. So as he sat next to his mother in front of the fire, he thought of the reasons as to why he meant it. Sherlock agreed to himself that what he said was entirely true, and John knew that, but usually Sherlock would feel a sense of accomplishment after speaking his mind; this time he wasn't. Truthfully, Sherlock felt like an idiot.

"So how did you find John's family?" asked his mother, "I hope you didn't upset them Sherlock."

"Well, it's too late now isn't it." said Sherlock, "I spoke my mind, you've always taught me that."

"Yes, I know I did Sherlock, but if speaking your mind is going to upset a couple of people, you should consider what you are going to say. Understand?"

"But it's the truth. Surely John knows that."

"Sherlock," she leaned her head against his shoulder, yawning from the soaring heat in the room, "Of the fifteen years you have been on this planet, you have never had a friend that has stayed for more than a week. You're very lucky to have John. Very lucky indeed. I presume he talked a bit about your father and Mycroft?"

"He said I'm just like them."

"In a way, you are. But is that such a bad thing? Even though your father might not show his love, he really does care for you. You know if anything happened to you, he would never forgive himself. Mycroft also, he cares for you because your brothers." Sherlock merely shrugged at his mother, as if what she said was hard to believe.

"Mother?" asked Sherlock, leaning the top of his head on hers, "When you had to go to the doctors, it wasn't serious was it?". For a while, his mother didn't say anything, which gave Sherlock the idea that there was something she was hiding.

"Of course not Sherlock, there's nothing to worry about. Just a little check-up, that's all. Don't worry about it."

Don't worry about it? How could he not worry about it? Over the last couple of months he's noticed that his mother sometimes forgets where she is. She is constantly going to the doctors; always hurting herself so easily. He knew his father and Mycroft knew something about it and he hated the idea of them hiding a secret from him. He knew she was lying, and that was what frightened him the most.

* * *

Sorry if this was a bit out of character for either Sherlock or John. I've been trying to set up my new tumblr account where I review books and upload anything I like. I only just created it last night. If you're interested(you don't have to be, it's up to you. But you can look if you're interested in anything to do with Sherlock or books and such), then here is the link:


	12. Chapter 12

He felt ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous. There he was, on the 31st October, stood in front of a house which looked more expensive than his own with a bag of alcohol he could sneak out of the house with; about to enter the house with no idea of where his friends might be. John was imagining that the whole night was going to be filled with drunken idiots who would constantly ask if you 'wanted a fight'; that was exactly what it was.

Entering the house, he scanned through the rooms, looking for Sally and the rest of them. Walking through the house was more of a struggle than looking for them. Since it was 10pm, most people were drunk enough as it is, shoving past John and tumbling over empty bottles. In the back of his mind, he was regretting coming here in the first place; he only knew a few people and they hardly talked to him even at school.

"John!" someone called in the kitchen, "John! Over here!"

Looking ahead, he saw Mike and Sarah stood near the doorway in a small group of people; bracing himself, he started to walk more confidently through the hall until he reached them.

"You looked a bit lost there John," said Sarah, passing him a drink, "It's hectic, isn't it? Sally's not here yet, but Anderson's gone off somewhere."

"Uh, yeah it's quite hectic? Why are there so many people here?" he asked as he swallowed down his drink in one. Usually he would never drink, actually he swore on his life that he would never drink. But as he looked at the pair who were waiting for him to take a drink of it, he felt he had to. Sarah noticed that his glass was empty, so she filled it again with something she found from the fridge.

"Well it's kind of a tradition here. Most people start some of their exams next month so in theory; this is the last half term for people to not worry about exams and that, even if some people have mocks next week. Usually there are more people, but most of them are outside." said Mike, "But it's freezing outside so we're staying in here."

"Have you been revising John? I've done a bit here and there, but I have literally learned nothing from it." asked Sarah while looking through the cupboards, picking something up before putting it back in its place, "They're doing afterschool revision when we get back so I might go to them, or not, it depends how I'm feeling."

"I think I'm alright, some of it I don't know but the rest-" said John, but stopped as he glanced over to the hallway. Both Mike and Sarah noticed this and turned to look also; all three surprised to see none other than Sherlock walking into the room they occupy. The whole room fell silent as Sherlock walked towards the three of them who were staring at him in shock. Yeah, John was glad Sherlock was here, but he could have come at a better time; it was like Sherlock never got changed, again he wore the same suit that John last saw him in.

"Mike. Sarah." said Sherlock. Each replied with a nod before shuffling closer to the doorway full of people. Now, it was just him and John standing face to face with each other, as people stared at the pair from afar, "John."

"Sherlock." said John, "Didn't think stuff like this was your cup of tea."

"It isn't." Sherlock moved next to John and leaned his back against the fridge door, "Mummy thought it would be a good idea to host a 'social get together', so I said I had some things to do instead. Anyway, I thought you weren't suppose to be seen with me."

"Well I'm not supposed to."

"So why are you still here? And you do realise we've attracted an audience." both turned their heads to find that not only Mike and Sarah, but Sally, Anderson and people from both their schools were staring at them. For John, it was getting tiresome; at that moment, they were judging him because he was talking to Sherlock without insulting him. It was like it was compulsory to insult Sherlock whenever you got the chance.

"You know Sherlock." Again, John gulped his drink down in one go. Once he finished, he grabbed the closest bottle of beer and poured himself another glass, "I have reached that moment in my life where I just don't give a shit anymore. I generally don't care what people think, is that a problem?"

"John?" said Anderson, the only one who was walking towards the pair, "Can I talk to you for a minute?"

"What about?"

"I'd rather talk to you with just the group," he said, pointing to Sally and the others.

"Is it important?" asked John. As he looked down at his glass, he noticed that is was again empty. He looked through the cupboards until he found another bottle to fill his glass with. Why did the glass seem to get more and more empty?

"Yeah. It's very important. You know why we want to talk to you." As John looked over at Anderson, John could sense the feeling that he was about to lose his temper; that's what he was hoping on.

"You say 'we' when you actually mean 'I'. I don't see Sally, Mike or Sarah standing by your side to help you out. I know that you and Sherlock had an argument, but all that is in the past," John could swear that the sound of his voice sounded slurred, "We're older now; we know better. So Anderson, can you do me a favour and just calm the fuck down?"

Laughing would be far from appropriate at that moment, but John couldn't help it. People have been telling him this and that; his family is breaking apart; he was falling hopelessly in love with Sherlock who would probably never return the favour and he had just created a new set of enemies, judging by the way people looked at him.

Again, he looked down at his glass and saw that it was again empty. How many glasses had he drank? It couldn't have been more than two; John never drunk and if he did, he would never in his life drink more than two, would he? Two bottles sat beside him, both empty with no other source of alcohol in sight of where he stood. Definitely more than two glasses worth, but in the state he was in, he felt like two glasses wasn't enough.

"You know what?" said Anderson, walking to stand face to face with John, "You're just as much of a freak as he is. You know I tried to be nice, polite even. I accepted you. Sally accepted you. Mike and Sarah accepted you and what do you do? You spit in our faces and tell us to 'calm the fuck down'. Well you know what, screw you, stay with the psychopath, does it look like I care?!"

And with one last poke in John's rib, he turned to walk away, barging into the crowd, shortly followed by Sally, "Are you alright John?" asked Mike as he walked towards the pair, looking rather concerned for his friend.

John gave out a choked laugh as he drank his drink, "Shouldn't you be following him? Since I 'spat in your faces'."

"Look John," Sarah joined the group and grabbed the glass from John's hands, "You've had too much to drink, you don't know what you're saying."

"I know exactly what I'm saying Sarah. I really hate Anderson, do you know that? I've hated him since the first time I met him. You two are alright; Sally's borderline. If you don't like the fact that I talk to Sherlock, then go and follow Anderson." John realised that Sherlock has stayed exceptionally quiet; not giving sarcastic remarks or insulting people, he wasn't really sure if this was either good or bad. Of the pair, Sarah was the one to walk away from the group. Before leaving, she stopped at the door and looked back round at the three before walking away.

"Sherlock," said Mike, snapping Sherlock back into reality, "Just thought you should know, you're alright with me. You too John. I don't really care if you two are friends or not, doesn't change the way I think of you." he grabbed a new bottle of beer and handed it to John before walking towards the door, "But be careful John. Sherlock, you know what Anderson's like. Who's saying he won't do the same to you too."

Once Mike left, Sherlock and John were the only two left in the kitchen, since the crowd has moved to another room. John was having mixed emotions. For starters, he was happy that at least someone was on his side and that he didn't have to keep hiding anymore. But at that moment when he looked at Anderson as he stormed out the room, he feared for his safety. Already, he was stabbed by someone he knew; he didn't want it to happen again.

* * *

It was getting towards midnight as John consumed more and more alcohol until his heart's content. Sherlock-however- was stone cold sober, watching John and making sure he didn't make another enemy at night. As John looked at Sherlock, he felt incredibly jealous and wished that he never took that first drink. Through the night, he tried to find Anderson or Sally so he could watch his back more clearly without having to constantly turn around and keep his eye out for them.

"John?" Sarah walked over to John, "Can I talk to you for a minute? Alone?"

"Yep, fine. Sherlock-" John gently pushed Sherlock towards a group of people and handed him his glass, "Try to not get yourself killed by saying those things you say- you know, those deducing skills." With one last wave of his hand, John was pushed by Sarah out of the room and towards outside in the garden. What used to look like a pleasant image of nature and greenery had now been spoiled by the scattering plastic cups and pools of vomit seen near bushes.

"John, can I just ask why you're friends with Sherlock?" said Sarah, who was constantly tripping on various dug out holes in the ground. Eventually, they reached a spot further away from the house that was unoccupied by anyone else, "It's not like Sherlock is the type to make friends or even have any."

"I don't know Sarah, I really don't. But why are _you _friends with Anderson?" A spot was clear on the ground and John took the opportunity to sit down, Sarah watched John sit down before she copied his moves, taking the spot next to him.

"No! I asked you first. Doesn't he piss you off though, he must have done that 'guessing' thing with you already, hasn't he?" she held out her bottle which John willingly accepted.

"Yep, he's done that already. But even you can't say that what he does isn't fantastic, because it is. And it's not guessing, he actually looks at you and tells you your whole life story. So excuse me if I find that interesting and amazing." he took a sip of his drink before passing it back to Sarah, "Right, so I answered _your _question, so answer _my _question. Why. Are. You. Friends. With Anderson?"

"At a point in my life, I was like you. Someone new. Didn't have anyone to call a friend. Then Sally comes along and asks you to sit with her at lunch, so now-" she chucked the empty bottle behind her into a nearby shrub, "you're stuck in this continuous cycle of having to spend every single bloody moment with them. Can I tell you something John? I'm tired of it too. I wish I went to a different school but you know what? It's too late. I'm on my last year before college and I'm stuck in this pathetic excuse for a school with no hope of having a god damn future. I just-" she put her head in her hands and started to violently cry. People were starting to look at the pair, so John thought it would be right to put his arm around her, "-hate my life."

"No. Look Sarah- just shut up for a minute. First of all, you don't try. I've seen you in lessons, you do absolutely nothing, you do fuck all. We're both on our last year of school, so we have to make this count. If we fail, we can only blame ourselves, maybe the school too. You told me you wanted to be a doctor, then be a doctor. I know I sound like one of those 'head in the cloud' teachers, but the least you can do is try. Am I right?"

"I- I guess so. John-" she leaned into John's arm and sighed, "You are the most kindest person I've ever met, even if you did just insult me a second ago. Why can't people be like you?" she rubbed her face roughly with her hands and looked behind her at the bottle in the bushes, "I really hate drinking with a passion."

"You're not the only one." they both laughed and looked at one another; the sudden urge to kiss each other was overwhelming, and so they did. When their lips first met, it wasn't gentle or loving like the way many movies demonstrated them. It was unsynchronised; there was no emotional love put into it and if John was honest, he felt rather sick. He didn't even know why he was kissing her in the first place when it should be Sherlock instead. _Sherlock instead_. If people ever found out this, he can say goodbye to having a normal life with normal friends and start to get used to having a few enemies.

"Wait, Sarah-" he tried to push her away, but a hand reached the back of his neck to pull them closer, "Sarah, just stop."

"No." was all she said, putting both of her hands at the back of his neck, clinging onto him tightly. John looked over and saw a group of people watching them from the back door, laughing and whispering at the drunken pair. In this group, he saw not only Mike but he also saw somebody else. He saw Sherlock. Sherlock was staring back at him, but he wasn't emotionless as he usually is, John could sense there was something wrong with him, but he couldn't put his finger on it.

Using his hands, he pulled her hands away from him, got up off the ground and started to walk away from her, ignoring the calls from Sarah, "John!" she called, getting up and running over to John. She gripped his arm forcefully and brought him to a stop, "What are you doing? Don't you love me?"

"No. I don't love you Sarah. You're drunk. I'm drunk." he could feel the eyes of Sherlock and the rest staring down at him as he rejected Sarah's plea.

"I know what I'm saying John. I love you and you feel the same. Just admit it!" she started to tug on his arm, trying to reach for another kiss. It was amazing how alcohol can change a person for the worse, "Why can't you see what's in front of you!?"

"Sarah, I don't love you. Get that in your thick skull." he was trying to drag himself away, but pulling Sarah along with him.

"But why?! Why don't you love me?!" she started to aggressively sob, tears streaming down her face as became desperate for his love. The sight of Sarah crying in front of him made John want to comfort her, but also push her away for the scene she was causing, "Just tell me why don't you love me?"

"I don't love you because I love Sherlock!" answered John, loud enough for everyone to hear. Loud enough for everyone to judge.

* * *

**AU:**

**Thank you for reading. Constructive criticism is very much appreciated :)  
**


	13. Chapter 13

"You- like Sherlock?" asked Sarah with disgust as her eyes wondered elsewhere as she pushed past him and into the house. John stared blankly at where she stood. The thought of turning around to face everyone else felt gruesome. He could feel their eyes aim at him. At that moment, he wasn't really thinking about how Sarah felt, but how Sherlock felt. Slowly he turned around to face the crowd; the sight wasn't welcoming.

The first person he saw was Mike, who looked utterly disappointed in him. It was as if their friendship had suddenly ended there. Luckily, Anderson or Sally weren't stood in the crowd, which made John smile with relief. The smile soon faded once John noticed Sherlock following Sarah away from the crowd and through the house. His first instinct was to run to Sherlock; ignoring people's insults and jokes.

"Wait Sherlock!" John called, stumbling past people who glared at him with amusement, "I can explain!"

But Sherlock didn't stop. Didn't let him explain. Sherlock pushed past a group of people who stood near the front door; his coat brushing past them with John following only seconds behind. The alcohol was taking effect more viciously as John walked faster and faster through the front door and down the garden path.

"Sherlock!" shouted John, going through the gates and down the street, "Stop being such a hormonal twat and let me explain! Please!" He didn't even look back. Not even once; this hurt John more than anything else.

Somehow-after minutes of walking and running- they both ended up near Baker Street. The street lights glistened high above them as they illuminated the streets, little drops of rain seen against the light. Unfortunately, the streets were packed with people dressed up for Halloween. Now and then, some random person would jump infront of John and try to scare him, but he ignored them as he continued down the street.

As he saw Sherlock take a turn to the next street, John picked up his pace and ran to catch him up. Once he turned the corner, he ran up to Sherlock and put his hand on Sherlock's arm and turned him around so they faced each other.

"Don't touch me." he said before shaking his arm off John's grip. John couldn't get a glimpse of Sherlock's face before he stormed off again, he was hoping that he could see something in Sherlock that could give him a sense of relief, but there was nothing.

"Sherlock, look I'm really sorry. I wasn't thinking. I'm drunk. Actually wait a minute-" he started to walk faster so that John could reach Sherlock's side, "I knew exactly what I was thinking. I love you Sherlock and-"

"No you don't, you told yourself you wouldn't drink to your sister's state and now look at you."

"No, don't put the blame on me. It's kind of your fault too." somehow they both managed to walk into an alley behind a group of houses. Both continued to walk down the passage until Sherlock stopped infront; there was a dead end. This was it; John wasn't going to let him get away without talking to him, properly talking to him.

"And why is it my fault John?" he asked, still facing the wall, "Why is it my fault that you got drunk and started proclaiming this ridiculous idea of being in love with me?"

"I kissed you before, and don't pretend that you don't remember, because I most certainly do. Right, you 'deleted it' from your memory, you know what I say to that? I say that's utter bollocks," John raised his hand and nudged Sherlock back with force, "You remember, admit it."

"I don't know what you're talking about John, now would you kindly leave me alone and-" Sherlock was cut short as he was pushed back onto the wall by John. His right arm pinning Sherlock's chest down.

"No, I won't leave you alone! You know, you should be smart enough to know that I'm not lying!" John rested his head on his right arm and sighed deeply, "Why do you think I'm lying? Really though, because I know I'm telling the truth so why don't _you_believe me-"

"Because no one loves me!" Using his hands, Sherlock grabbed the arm pinning him and swapped sides, so that Sherlock was pinning John to the wall instead. John stared at the eyes burning into him intensely, and finally looked at Sherlock. Sherlock looked scared. The same type of being scared when you are in serious danger, but John realised that Sherlock looked scared because _he_did that to Sherlock.

"Well, that's a bit stupid, isn't it? Let's forget me for now and talk about your family. You're mum loves you. You're dad and Mycroft love you, they just have a weird way of showing it. Mrs Hudson loves you in a motherly way. And then there's me, even though you don't believe me. Well you know what-" John tried to release himself from Sherlock's hold; "I don't care if you hate me for the rest of my life because of what I said. I'd be pissed off at first with you, but then I'll leave you to it."

"Yes, my family love me. I understand that, but you-" he slowly let go of John and stepped back, "You have this affection for me, and I have told you John time and time again that this isn't my area and I thought you would be clever enough to understand that."

"What if you're lying to yourself Sherlock? What if you're just telling yourself that this isn't your area just to save yourself from something?" Slowly, John walked past Sherlock; staring at the open gap at the end of the passage, "From the pain, maybe? I don't know. And you know what-" he turned to face Sherlock and stared at anywhere besides his eyes. If he was to look at Sherlock in the eye, he wouldn't be able to keep his pain to himself, "You're probably never going to forget this. Yeah, you'll delete it, but it will still be there, in the back of your mind. You will remember, even if you tell yourself it didn't happen."

The sound of heavy raindrops hit the pavement and pools of water. John closed his eyes and raised his head to feel the downpour on his face, the feeling of the cool, heavy drew hit his warm face seemed to bring back sense into John, which alcohol once took away. He never felt his mind so cleansed before, the rain seemed to freshen him and shake him back into reality.

"So now you know. I- John Hamish Watson- love you. Tell yourself that I'm lying, but you'll only be lying to yourself. I don't know why I love you. I guess it's because of how you are. I mean you're clever. You're funny, in a dark sort of way. I don't even know why I'm saying these things. You won't even care." he took one last look at Sherlock, before turning his heels and walking back out the narrow passage, "I don't think I should see you anymore. Not after what you told me. Goodbye Sherlock and have a nice life."

Walking away from Sherlock was the most painful thing he had ever done, even the stab wound couldn't compare. Once everyone finds about what happened between Sarah and John and what John said, he would be alone. He will have no one. Yeah, his family will always be there to support him, but who else? His last hope was Sherlock, but even that has gone down the drain. He walked slowly, hoping that Sherlock would stop him and say something reassuring. John hadn't even thought about what Anderson might do, once Sarah tells him everything. From now on, he was going to have to watch his back. He was alone in this. His life has taken a turn for the worse.

"John!"

The sudden voice made John freeze on the spot; he wanted to turn around but didn't have the willpower to do it. Sound of shoes against the pool of water got closer to John and suddenly he was forced to turn around.

"Not really my area." Sherlock stood in front of John, looking paler that he usually did. Both were drenched in water, but that was forgotten.

"Yeah, you've told me that." said John, who looked at Sherlock with confusion, "Why are you telling me again?"

"What if I was just telling myself that?"

"Excuse me?"

"My mind is like a hard drive. It has to be protected because it is fragile. It's weird to say this John, but I think you're right. The chemistry of love is incredibly simple, and very destructive. Once it affects the mind, it affects the person. When it does damage on the person, it can damage the mind, leading to a long process of healing. And I can't let that happen to me." said Sherlock, grabbing John's upper arms.

"Wait, you think I'm going to damage you?" All of this was suddenly overwhelming for John, "If I hurt you I hurt...your mind? Is that what you think will happen?"

"Of course that is what will happen John, that's why I've never gotten myself remotely close having sentimental feelings."

"Why do you think _I'll_ do that? I'm not like that. I know I love you, and I'm not going to deny myself."

"But you'll get bored of me. That's what happens. People get bored or they lose interest-"

"And you think I'll lose interest in you? You've got to be kidding me. You have got to be the most interesting, smart, incredible, eccentric and amazing person I have ever met. I am never, ever going to hurt you like that. I wouldn't even dream of it." said John, grabbing Sherlock's upper arms tightly, "You know it's funny, I only met you two months ago, and I'm saying all this. I sound like a hormonal teenager."

"Maybe that's because-"

"You know Sherlock, it doesn't matter." said John. Both of them laughed, but found it difficult to stop. The past hour was ridiculous for both of them. Never in their lives had they thought they would be in a situation like this. As they both looked at each other, the laughing died down and they were both brought back into the reality that was standing in the middle of an alley in the pouring rain.

Sherlock was the first to speak, "Okay."

"Okay?" said John, more or less puzzled, "What are you talking about?"

"This idea of love, John. I say it's not my area, but I can make changes." John smiled faded as he held Sherlock's arm tighter.

"Wait, so what you're saying is-"

"What I'm saying is that I have never had sentimental feelings for someone or had the desire for these feeling, but you-John Watson- are exceptional." Sherlock spun them round and slowly pushed John to the closest wall.

"So you agree about what I've been saying?" All of this seemed unrealistic to John, he couldn't believe it. Just moments ago Sherlock was denying him again, but now it was a different story.

"Yes, but like I said, I've never had feeling for someone before, this is all new to me. You have to help me with this."

"Sure, what do you need help with?" asked John. The presence of Sherlock being so close; their faces close, their hair and clothes soaked in water.

"First, you have to understand that since I've never had these feelings, I've never had sexual intercourse-"

"Neither have I." said John, quicker than usual.

"-or have the desire to have sexual intercourse. Second, physical contact I can handle, to a certain extent. Holding hands in public? No. Kissing I can put up with. I don't want you to call me your boyfriend. I hate that term and hope you understand to not use that to describe us. Don't speak of this to Mycroft or my father; I don't want them to know so that they would give me a lecture on why I should just _give it up_."

"I completely understand and agree to your 'terms'. No offense Sherlock, but your dad and brother are more psychotic than Anderson is."

"Thank you for understanding John." said Sherlock. Both of them let go of each other as Sherlock gave John space. John smiled foolishly. So this was it, what John had been hoping for for the past months had finally happened, and John couldn't be any happier.

"So what do we do now?" asked Sherlock, perplexed by his new change with feelings.

"I...really don't know." John kicked a pool of water around to occupy himself. His hands started to get cold, so he shoved them into his pockets for warmth.

"Well, we could do that thing we did, you know before-"

"You mean _kiss_? You want us to kiss?" said John, amazed at Sherlock's change of mind.

"Isn't that what people do? Once they are at a beginning in a relationship?"

"Well, yes. But I didn't think you would want to do that."

"Who says I don't?"

"Okay then," said John, wasting no time before placing his hands on Sherlock's cheekbones and pulling him down as their lips were brought together. It was slow. It was innocent, but it was what John wanted most. Instead of pulling back as he did before, Sherlock moved his hands to John's face and accepted John's kiss willingly. Both smiled into the kiss. John used his instincts and decided to move his mouth, hoping Sherlock would do the same but he didn't. Using his hands, John pushed Sherlock away, but was still so close that they were inches apart.

"You're suppose to move them too you know, don't just leave me to it." said John, laughing at how Sherlock knew little about this.

"Oh, right. I knew that." said Sherlock. This time he grabbed John's face and kissed him back, moving his lips accordingly with John's. John sighed into the kiss as he was overcome with dizziness and need. Once he saw Sherlock's eyes close, he freely closed his own, letting the kiss control him. He held onto Sherlock's arms as if it were his life and pulled him closer until the back of John's head hit the wall. It seemed like hours before John let go of Sherlock's arms and pushed his chest back, their lips losing contact. John looked up at Sherlock and saw that his eyes were filled with entity, desire perhaps?

"Can I just ask?" said John, who brushed himself of dirt before walking out of the alley with Sherlock following behind, "Why did you change your mind? I mean, one minute you say it's not your area and now this? It's all going a bit fast to be honest."

"All those things you told me, all those things you said I was. No one had ever said those things to me or has shown me feelings as much as you have done. I know I sound hopeless but I'm being honest. And when you said you think we shouldn't see each other anymore, I didn't want that to happen John." The rain had abruptly stopped. The streets have died down of people and the roads were silent, "You're too important to lose."

* * *

**To get lost into this important part of the story, I started listening to the music box version of _'Davy Jones'_ from the_ Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Man's Chest_ soundtrack(I know...don't judge). Feel free to comment if you think any part was out of character(especially Sherlock) or comment for any other matter :)**

**Thank you for reading :)**


	14. Chapter 14

**This chapter was late by four days; I'm incredibly sorry. It's getting to the point that I'm too busy revising for exams that I don't have time to upload new chapters on a regular basis. So I can't promise that I'll upload a chapter every week, only when I have time. Again sorry to people who have been following this story.**

**SJ**

* * *

Looking in the mirror on the Monday morning, John stared deeply at himself; focusing on the little details on his face. As long as it passed the time. He hasn't seen Anderson or Sally or the rest of the group since the Friday, and he really wanted to keep it that way. He hasn't even seen Sherlock since Friday, once they left the alley and Sherlock walked John home, they hardly talked. There was no knock on his door on Saturday and there was no knock on his door on Sunday.

It was amazing enough that John actually remembered something about that night, considering he'd never been so drunk in his life. Some would say that he was lucky to remember; only a part of him agreed.

Scooping water into his hands, he splashed his face to wake him up; to prepare him. He grabbed the towel and dried himself before walking downstairs and into the kitchen. It was the same routine every day, only today he stayed at home for a little while longer than usual. For once in a long time, he actually sat at the table and ate breakfast with them. Even his sister noticed that John was acting rather odd.

"You alright John?" asked Harry, dipping her spoon into her cereal, "You look more odd than you usually do."

"Why do you care?" he asked, sharply.

"I don't care John. Why would I care? I just thought that it was custom for an older sibling to ask their younger sibling if they're all right. Answer me or don't, I couldn't care less."

"Aren't you going to be late for school?" asked his father; straightening his tie before grabbing his keys, "I could give you a lift if you want."

"No, it's alright. I'll walk."

"Do you think you'll get to school in ten minutes when it usually takes you forty-five?" said his mother. She pulled John from his seat and pushed him and his father through the kitchen door, "I don't think so. You're father's going to take you in and that's final."

Both were shoved out of the house and into London's street. They both looked at each other and sighed with tiredness before heading to the car. John asked as he checked his watch, "Aren't you usually in work by now?"

"I know. I know. Tell me about it. And then there's the traffic you get in the morning, so it's likely that we're both going to be late, but worry not. I'll just call my boss and tell her I'm going to be late."

"Oh, you're alright. But what about me then? The last time I was late for school I was humiliated by the teachers and half of the bleeding class."

"Not my problem John." he started the car and pulled out of the driveway. They were only driving for five minutes until they hit a large queue of traffic getting packed in the small street.

"Shit! Shit! Shitting shit!" his Dad slammed his palms into the steering wheel before hitting his own head on the wheel, "I know I said I'd call my boss but I really don't need this now!"

"Me neither! And what happened to not worrying? There goes your plan of NOT worrying. What are we supposed to do now?"John asked, checking the time on his phone. The chances of the traffic clearing and him arriving at school on time was slim; highly unlikely.

"I have no idea John. Wait one minute, can you just stay quiet while I call the office?" he said, not really asking as he pulled out his phone and dialled his work. John did as he was told and kept his mouth closed while his father chatted away on his phone, "Yes. Yes. I know- Thank you so much-Yep. It won't happen again. Around ten hopefully. Alright, bye." his father said, putting down the phone.

"Should we call my school?" asked John as he searched for the number on his phone.

"Yeah, just pass the phone here." Quickly John tapped the numbers into his phone and handed the phone over to his father. Both waiting patiently for reception to pick up the phone, "Hello, I just wanted to call to say my son is going to be late for school today. Why? Well we're stuck in traffic and looks like we won't get there until ten. I know, it's just- Yes it is important but- Alright, again sorry about this."

His father gave one last 'sorry' on the phone before putting the phone down and tossing it to John, sighing over the trouble of calling, "Well, they said you won't be here for long if it happened again. I tried to explain but they wouldn't shut up. Remind me why I sent you there?"

"Why are you asking me? Anyway, it's too late now. I can't go anywhere else." said John. Looking out of the window was what he did while he waited in the traffic; his father was typing furiously on his phone, probably something to do with work. Seeing everyone's lives go on as normal while he was sat there doing nothing but stare out the window made John feel like running back home, just to stay in his room until he was dragged out by his own two feet.

"Well that was a waste of time-" said his father, shoving his phone into his pocket. It was an eerie silence before his father turned to him, "So...this 'Sherlock' that you seem to be spending a lot of time with...what's his problem, eh?"

"He doesn't have a problem."

"Are you sure about that John? Remember the way he talked to us, at dinner? If you weren't there I would have done something. But even you can admit there's something wrong with him."

"Nothing's wrong with him!" said John sharply as he turned to stare at his father.

"Alright. Alright. Calm down, I was only asking." he saw the traffic ahead move forward, so he put his car into drive and moved it closer to the queue, "I can't believe he talked to your sister like that, he had no right. I mean who does he think he is? He's one cocky bastard isn't he?"

"Well, I wouldn't say that." said John, getting furious with his father, "And he's right. Harry does have a drinking problem and you know it. You're just blind of the obvious, or you do know and you're trying to tell yourself otherwise."

"Don't you dare talk to me like that John! You know full well that your sister is not an alcoholic."

"Oh, who's the one lying now? She's pissed off her head all the time-"

"I wouldn't say all the time John-"

"When I say all the time, I MEAN all the time. You know, Sherlock's right about another thing. We keep lying to people and one day people will find out about why we moved. Isn't it better to tell them why we moved in the first place so we don't have to stop hiding?"

"Oh? So you want people to know that we moved to London because you were bullied for being gay!?" his father slammed his hands into the steering wheel and gripped on the handles, "DO YOU?!"

His dad promised that he wouldn't take it so harshly. It was hard when John had to 'come out' to his family; technically he didn't even do it himself. John wouldn't necessarily call himself gay, he still liked both genders. When his friends found out, they did their best to keep it a secret from the school.

The only problem was that a secret can't be hidden forever. After a month of telling his friends, he came to school one day to find everyone talking behind his back and stare at him in lessons. It wasn't until the last lesson of the day that someone teased him about it. When he got home that day, he retrieved to his bedroom; not speaking a word about it to his family. Over the days the taunting got worse and eventually his friends refused to help him out. It was like a blow to the chest when his last remaining friend told him that they both shouldn't be seen together anymore.

One day when walking home from school, a bunch of people from his year started to follow him until they were on an empty street. That was the moment when they decided to circle around him and drag him into a close passage where it was five against one. That was the moment when he got stabbed. Left on the cold, concrete floor; bleeding until he lost consciousness. Luckily enough, he was found by someone who just happened to see him as they passed. An ambulance was called; a crowd surrounded him.

When he next woke up, he was in a hospital bed with a stinging pain in his shoulder that got worse as he lay there. His parents eventually found out about John being gay when they were confronted by a teacher who knew about the bullying. That was one thing that John was so annoyed with; that his family found out about the bullying and him being gay from a teacher. He wasn't even brave enough to tell them himself.

"Are you still angry about that? You know, about me being gay?" asked John.

"John listen to yourself. It's ridiculous. You're just going through a phase, just like Harry."

"I'm going through a phase?! You said Harry was going through a phase when she was twenty years old at the time."

"She's still young enough to not understand all that nonsense, and you are too. You're not gay and that is the end of the matter."

"But Dad I'm-"

"I SAID THAT IS THE END OF THE MATTER!" his voice erupted inside the car and John froze; his body started to tense up as he stared into his father's eyes that burned into him, "You listen to me John and you listen good. You've been here for more than two months and managed to not get yourself in trouble with this stupid idea of being gay-"

"But Dad it isn't-"

"-and I would like you to keep it that way, okay? You're lucky enough that people don't know. Keep it that way. You'll realise when you're older that you're not gay and was in fact going through a phase. Now will you kindly shut up until we get to school." said his father. And that was that. The silence returned; they both stayed quiet. However, John's mind was reeling with worry. Little his father knew about last week; little his father knew about him at all. Why did he have to open his mouth of his and practically shout out that he was gay? The one thing John wanted the most was to erase everything that happened on Friday and return to normal.

"Dad. Turn the car around." said John.


	15. Chapter 15

Of course his father ignored his wishes; he always did. There was no way his father was going to turn the car around, after waiting in traffic, that would be the last thing he said he'd do. So there John was: standing in front of the school gates; staring up at the building and dreading the fact that people inside knew about him, and there was no way John could hide it anymore. He had to face the fact: it was possible that every single person in the school knows he's gay. But he wasn't going to let them bring him down; treat him like how his friends treated him before. He was stronger; more braver than that.

So why was he still standing outside the school? He couldn't recall how many minutes he had been standing there; but it must have been long, since the bell for first lesson could be heard from outside. The sudden realisation dawned on him when he remembered that people could see him, so quickly he ran far away from the school's view and hid behind a large fence. Luckily nobody saw, he hoped, so he started to walk down the street until he was further away, then he became less tense.

The one thing that was nagging at John was that the school knows he was stuck in traffic; his dad called the school himself. How would they react when they find that he hasn't arrived yet? Surely they wouldn't call home, but fortunately everyone was at work to not be able to pick up the phone.

However, he didn't want to go home yet, in fear that Harry might be running late on going to work. And he was still in his uniform. It was highly likely that people would stop him in the streets and ask if he should be in school. But where else was there to go, to hide for the whole day that happened to be close by? It only took John a minute to think about a place where he could go.

Mrs Hudson's Bookshop. The place Sherlock took him to when they were walking around. Without hesitation, he pulled out his phone to type in the name of the shop for the address; typing in the destination on his phone, he found a quick route which took him to the shop.

* * *

Again, the place was quiet. Even though the shop was located near a historical attraction which tourists tend to visit, the shop still stayed quiet. It was dark inside, so dark that you couldn't even trace the outline of the bookshelves. In a way, the look of the shop made John distraught; all those books left unread, left to stand on the bookshelf until they fall apart and become too fragile to keep. It hardly looked like anyone was in there at all, but of course there was Mrs Hudson. There was always Mrs Hudson. He could see her sat behind the counter with tea at hand, still looking at the computer as if it was an unknown object. He removed his blazer and draped it over his forearm before opening the door and entering the shop. Instantly, Mrs Hudson raised her head and stared at John; at look that said 'I've seen you before'.

"Hell Mrs Hudson." said John, hanging his blazer over the coat rack that stood near the door. Mrs Hudson still had that questioned look on her before she realised it was John. Her confusion turned to delight.

"Oh John! It is John, isn't it? I'm sorry if that's wrong, I'm not good with names you see." she got up from her seat and went into the back kitchen to-which John guessed-turn on the kettle, "I thought it was a school day?" she asked, looking at John's uniform.

"Um- well, you know- It's a...teachers training day. Yeah, a training day." he sighed with relief, quite proud that he thought of the excuse, "So no one has to go in."

"But why are you wearing you're uniform? It's a bit unusual, isn't it dear?" she returned to the counter and picked up some books that needed to be put in the bookshelves.

"Um- Actually, er- It was a funny story really. I thought it was school today, so I went to school, saw it was closed and decided to come here for the day. You know, to help out with anything you need helping with and all that." he glanced at the books he held in her hand, "For instance I could put those away for you. Only if you don't mind."

"That's very kind of you dear. Of course I don't mind, it's nice to have an extra pair of hands helping me around here. Especially with putting back the books. These pains in my hip are making it harder for me you know." she said, handing the books over to John, "The numbers on the side of the books tell you where to place them, okay?"

"Yep, sounds easy enough." he said, holding up the first book 'The Shining by Steven King', "Anything else?"

"Not really, that's all you need to know. If you need help Sherlock can help you." she said. The sound of his name being said made John froze on the spot, staring at her with puzzlement.

"Sh- Sherlock? What are you talking about?" asked John as he started to walk towards the horror section of the shop; Mrs Hudson walking slowly behind him.

"Sherlock's school also has a free day, he arrived here thirty minutes before you. Look see, he's sat at the back," she pointed to the back of the bookshelves, where Sherlock was indeed sat, reading something from the shelves. It was a coincidence that he also was wearing his school uniform, just like John was, "What is it with you boys forgetting when you do or don't have school? Like I said John, if you need help, Sherlock can help you with anything."

Mrs Hudson turned to walk away from John, who was still staring at Sherlock with surprise. Quickly, he put the first book in its rightful place before walking towards Sherlock, slowly and with caution. He clutched onto the pile of books he held tightly in front of his chest as he got closer. If somebody was watching nearby, they would have thought John was a psychotic stalker who looked troubled.

"John." Sherlock said, his eyes never leaving the pages. He nearly lost his grip on the books. The sound of Sherlock saying his name filled the gap of silence in the room.

"Sherlock." said John, which-to him- sounded like he was mocking Sherlock, when he didn't intent to, "Alright?"

"Yes I'm fine. You?"

"Same." he answered. This was the most awkward situation he had ever been faced with in a long time. There he was, holding a pile of books while rocking back and forth with his feet; staring at someone who refused to stare at him, who just happened to be his-partner, "Well...this is- um-"

"awkward? I would have thought so. Not seen you since Friday. It's as if you're purposely trying to avoid me-"

"No! No, of course I'm not. I just don't know what to do. What do we do now?"

"What are you talking about?"

"Well you said that you can handle us two being together, which is great, but look at us. We're not even acting like we're in a relationship?" he said, putting the books on the table and sitting in the opposite chair.

"I've told you John that I've never had a partner before until you, so why are you asking _me _about what we should do?"

"Well, I just needed-"

"And I did say to you John that I wasn't going to change the way I was, just so it would look like we're in a relationship. And you agreed to that, so why does it bother you now?" Sherlock glanced at the page one last time before putting the book onto the pile.

"It doesn't bother me! Why would it bother me? I think it's great that we're in a relationship, but it's just so weird and unusual. Mind you, we've only been doing this for three days, so I don't know what to expect." he said. John was staring at the pile of books he needed to put away. Even though John couldn't see, he could tell that Sherlock was staring at him, which made John feel less at ease. One minute passed before John stood up and picked up the books, "I need help with these."

John stood for a while, waiting for Sherlock to take the hint that he needed help. But when Sherlock stayed in his seat, John sighed and started to work on putting the books back; he shouted, "Are you going to help me or not?!". This time Sherlock was more aware and stood up; walking over to John and grabbed half of the books from his hands.

* * *

"Why are you in your uniform?" asked John casually. Both sat back down behind the shop once they finished putting the books away. Fifteen minutes later, after arguing about where a book goes and struggling to put a book on a high shelf, they collapsed into their seats; feeling like they had accomplished an impossible task.

"Why are _you?_"

"I asked you first."

"I asked you second."

"Oh really?" John said sarcastically, laughing at him. Only his laughter died down when he realised Sherlock was serious, "Fine then. I was late for school. Stood outside school. Didn't want to go. Ran behind a fence and now here I am. You?"

"Fairly similar, only I didn't run behind a fence, there was no need. I simply walked." he said, looking over at Mrs Hudson, who happened to fall asleep in one of the chairs opposite the room, "But I believe the real question John is: why did you not want to go inside?"

"I was just-" he bit his lip nervously, trying not to meet his gaze, "scared, that's all."

"Scared about people knowing or are you just scared of Anderson?" he asked.

"Both I'm afraid. You know people our age these days, they're not really the type of people to mess with, especially Anderson. Or maybe it's just the selected few." he said, "I was meaning to ask you this. What did Anderson actually do to you?"

"The same as what happened to you in your previous school, only I wasn't...injured like you were. It wasn't my idea to move school. My mother was more worried than Mycroft or father, so she demanded that I transfer to a different school."

"And how's your new school?"

"The school is more academically successful. The Y11's-however- stayed the same. It was just a waste of time moving schools, so I wouldn't suggest you should do the same."

"I wasn't going to."

"Well, of course you weren't, but you _were _thinking about it. Don't use it as an escape John, it'll only be worse for you when it comes to final exams, seeing as they as so important to you."

"Speaking of exams, have you started to revise yet?"

"I don't need to."

"Everyone needs to revise Sherlock. You know, just in case you forget." he said, still shocked that Sherlock sounded so confident about the exams. He wished he could say the same thing, but to him, he wasn't as intelligent as Sherlock's was.

"Well I don't so-" A sound came from John's pocket, which made both jump. He immediately recognised it as his ringtone, so took the phone from his pocket and answered the call, not getting time to look at the caller ID.

"Hello?"

"Hello John." said the voice. It was his father.

"Oh, hi dad. What's up?"

"Oh, nothing's up John. How's school so far?" he asked. The school must have called him about John, he must know that John isn't at school, "I hope it's going well."

"Uh-" he looked over at Sherlock for help, who only looked at him puzzled. He then started to search the room, not sure what to find; he guessed he wanted help wherever it came from, "School's fine dad, really it's all good-"

"Cut the shit John! I know you're not at school. The teacher has called your mother, who then called me, telling us that YOU weren't at school! What do you think you're doing?! You've got your mother worried sick about you! Explain yourself!"

"Jesus Christ, calm down for one second, okay? I'm fine, nothing's wrong with me. I'm not in a stranger's car or held hostage in a stranger's house, I'm perfectly fine-"

"So where. The fuck. Are you?"

"I'm- I'm just with-"

"No. No you're not," he said. John didn't have to say anything to know where his dad was going with the conversation, "You are! You're with Sherlock, aren't you?! After you know how much I hate that little twit. Okay, here is what I want you to do starting from where you're sitting, or standing, I don't really care. Get up. Tell Sherlock that you're going now. Then walk back home. You got that?! Or do you want me to repeat it so it sinks into your thick skull?!"

"But dad I'm-"

"GET UP. TELL SHERLOCK YOU'RE GOING. WALK BACK HOME. If you're not back home in thirty minutes then don't expect to come home to a happy family." Then his father put the phone down, after shouting at John's ears so loudly that Sherlock stared at him with amusement. John stared at the phone for a couple of seconds, before slowly putting it back into his pocket. When they looked at each other, they both erupted into a fit of laughter; John was still laughing as he got all of his stuff together and walked over to the coat rack to retrieve his blazer. Sherlock followed him to the door.

"Well, you're father must really like me as a person." said Sherlock.

"I'm sorry Sherlock. Really I am, but I have to go now," he opened the door; breathed the fresh air and started to head down the road. He called, "Text me if you need something!"

The autumn breeze had finally arrived after months of waiting, cooling his face as the warmth of the sun still heated him from one side. He was about to turn the corner when he heard Sherlock call him back.

"John!" he called, fast walking towards John who had turned back around, "I've realised something."

"That's...interesting Sherlock. Care to tell me what it's about?"

"You don't know my number." he said. John looked up at Sherlock and laughed to himself. After what they've went through, he still didn't know Sherlock's number. It was impossible to believe, but it was true. When John made no movement of doing something about it, Sherlock grabbed John's phone from his pocket and added his number before handing it back.

"Well now I do." said John. He raised his left hand and cupped Sherlock's cheek before reaching up to peck Sherlock's lips, catching Sherlock by surprise. He didn't know why he decided to reach up and kiss Sherlock, somehow whenever he kissed Sherlock, he felt a whole lot better. It was only intended to be a quick, one second kiss but turned out to be more. Even though he kissed him unexpectedly, he felt himself and Sherlock smile into the kiss. It was abnormal when Sherlock smiled, but whenever John saw him, he couldn't help but smile himself. They must have been stood there for a long time, as John's arms stared to cramp, but John also remembered Sherlock's terms about public affection and pulled away quickly to stop himself.

John had started to walk again down the street before Sherlock could gather his senses. Once he turned around the corner, he started to run fast past groups of people, in fear of what his father was going to say. But the thought of Sherlock; the way their lips fit perfectly together; the way they acted towards each other. It was as if they'd known each other for a lifetime.

At that moment, his father's anger couldn't destroy his mood. But how wrong he would be once he reached home. Turns out his father can have more of an impact after all.

* * *

**To be continued...in the distant future...by the way, sorry if the chapter is too long...I got lost in the moment...**


	16. Chapter 16

**I was on a role so decided to upload another chapter! Yay! **

* * *

He had never seen his father so angry in his life. Yeah, John had been a witness to his verbal abuse, but never in his life had he seen his father so angry with John that his father looked like he was going to do more than shout . When he got home-ten minutes after leaving the shop- he saw all his family sat in the living room, each one raised their heads when they realised John had entered the room.

His mother was curled up on the couch with her chin buried into her knees. From the look in her eyes, it was obvious that she had been crying. The warm glow of her eyes were now a watery bloodshot canvas filled with fear; the roots of her hair looked like it was pulled out of her ponytail on purpose from the stress.

Harry was also there; whenever John was about to get told of by his mother or father, she would look at John with merriment. But when he fully looked at his sister, merriment was not a word to describe the way she seemed. She looked terrified, which was not a word to describe her. Now and then she turned to look at her father, and then back at John.

It was when he looked at his father when he understood why his mother and sister looked so scared. If all of his father's anger in the last year was summed up into an expression, his father's face would be the perfect description. Whenever his father expressed any sign of fury, his face would go a dark shade of red; his veins throbbing in his forehead; his fists curled into a strong ball. When he stood in front of the door and stared at his family, he never dared to let go of the door handle, just in case.

"What the fuck are you up to John?!" asked his father. John couldn't take in what was happening, as his father walked up to him and firmly pushed John into the living room.

"George, you shouldn't be so-" his mother informed, but was stopped by his father's interruption.

"No! I'm going to say something Julie and don't stop me. John, what has gotten into you?"

"Nothing has, I'm fine. I just didn't feel like going into school today, I wasn't feeling well."

"You were perfectly fine in the car so don't you make nonsense up about being ill. Do you do this on purpose John?"

"No- no why would I? I'm being serious, I was ill. Can we just forget about it? I promise I won't do it again." John was about to go upstairs and escape to his bedroom, but his father stopped him with his arm and pushed John next to Harry on the couch.

"And then you tell us you're with Sherlock, and remember Julie. Didn't I say that Sherlock was a bad influence on John? Well, now I was proved correct."

"It wasn't Sherlock's idea you know, I didn't go in because I didn't want to. So don't bring Sherlock into this."

"I know it wasn't Sherlock's idea, but what annoys me so much is that you still call him a friend after he called your sister an alcoholic."

"Wait, dad. You know it's fine-" John looked at his sister and could tell she hated this as much as he did. They both wanted him to stop; their mother also had the same look on her face, as she stared at the three.

"No, it's not fine Harriet. He said you were an alcoholic, so he could of said something about your mother or myself. And I won't have you listening to that Sherlock anymore."

"What are you going to do then, eh? Stop me from talking to him forever? Well, good luck with that. It's never going to happen."

"Well then I'll make it happen!"

"And what is that suppose to mean?!" asked John, standing up and getting ready to leave the room.

"You heard me well John. From now on, I don't want to see or hear that you and Sherlock have talked or even seen each other behind my back. If you have then more actions need to be taken."

"George please-" his mother stood up and as gently as she could, held her hand over his father's upper arm. When he felt the sudden contact, he jerked away and instead took hold of John's shoulder and gripped it tightly.

"Shut up Julie. Now listen John, if you ever talk to, touch, listen to or even look at that Sherlock ever again, I WILL do something about it, understood?" he gripped John's shoulder so tightly that John felt his arm sting and go numb from the pain. It was like his father forgot about John's wound on his shoulder.

"He's the only- friend I have, I can't just-"

"NO EXCUSES JOHN!" his father growled. John could feel his father's thumb stab into his wound as he winced and tried to pull away, but his father was too strong, "Now promise me you won't talk to him again."

"But-"

"Promise me!"

"Al- Alright. Fine. I won't. I swear. But please dad can you just-"

"WHAT?"

"Let- Let go of my shoulder? Please?" his voice was more of a cry. The pain was so agonizing that his eyes started to sting from it; he looked at his shoulder to find that his white blazer had traces of blood around his wound. He could hear his mother gasp as she walked past his father to check if John was alright. Harry was still sat in her place and looked anywhere besides her father.

It was a shock to John when his father stormed out of the living room, picked up his car keys and left the house; making sure to slam the door on the way out. At last, the air was filled with silence that calmed everyone down. He felt so embarrassed as his mother checked his shoulder; it reminded him of when he was lying in the hospital bed. Useless. Scared. That was how he felt.

* * *

After his mother treated his shoulder and wrapped it in a bandage, he felt like he could collapse into the arms of sleep. So that was what he did. After getting asked repeated amount of times if he wanted anything to drink or eat, he grabbed his school bag and slowly he walked up the stairs. Taking his time as he passed each step.

Once he entered his bedroom, he made his way to the bed and slowly lowered himself to sit down, however he couldn't bring himself to do anything, not even sleep. The only thing he did was stare at the same spot on the wall for what felt like a lifetime. He didn't know why he was acting this way, maybe from the shock, or the pain. He was scared of his father before, but now, his father was a completely different man. The sound of the front door being slammed and the car going out of the driveway meant that his mother or Harry must have gone back to work.

He moved up the bed so that he had his back against the wall; breathing deeply, in and out. When thoughts of his father came back, he shook fiercely. The thought of his father grabbing his shoulder; staring at John with his dark, burning eyes; his mother and sister staring at them both, not doing anything to help.

He buried his head into his shaking hands. Running his hands from his chin to his hairline, he repeated the process, trying to not make himself break down. His mind was circling round and round; with decisions that he couldn't conclude. Why couldn't his life be easy?

"John?" called his sister through the door, "Can I come in? I swear I won't piss you off."

The door opened without John answering; Harry slowly entered the room and closed the door as quietly as possible, but still John made no sign of movement. She looked at him with uncertainty before walking over to the bed to sit next to John, her back also leaning against the wall.

"You know he didn't mean it, don't you? He doesn't know what he's doing at times."

"He knew what he was doing." The thought of his dad purposely harming him caused John to shed a tear, which luckily couldn't be seen by his sister. When Harry didn't reply, John assumed that she wasn't sure what to believe.

"How can you say that John? He's your father, he wouldn't harm you on purpose."

"And how do you know? Harry, he's getting worse every day. I'm scared to come home. I'm scared to talk to him. I'm even scared to look at him."

"I know John. So am I." she said. They both sat there next to each other in silence. Both felt the need to speak; to break the stillness.

"Can I ask you something?" asked John, his hands falling to his lap.

"Go ahead."

"When you told dad you were gay, what did he do?"

"Well, at first he was going on about how it would 'shame the family' and all that. He tried to accept me, but found it difficult. Now he just says that I'm going through a phase. I'm in my 20s and he still believes I'm going through a phase, the blind idiot. Why do you ask?"

"I was just curious." he said.

"Something's up, isn't there? Has something happened to you, again? You've been acting weird all month."

John breathed in deeply and turned to stare at his sister, "Yeah, something's happened. You remember Sherlock?"

"The one that dad was complaining about just recently? Yeah, I remember. What about him?"

"Well- him and I. We're kind of a-"

"Really?" she asked, rather eagerly, "You and him are-"

"together? Yeah. Yeah we are. That doesn't bother me, it's just something else which bothers me."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, I kind of admitted I was gay in front of a load of people. Now the entire school knows. And someone threatened me because of it."

"Jesus Christ, John." she said, " You have enough business with dad on your back, let alone this other person. What's their name?"

"Anderson. But that isn't his real name."

"Doesn't matter. Just find out where he lives. Give me the address and let me do the rest." he laughed at his sister's protective side, which he rarely saw, "You can't keep anything a secret, can you?"

"Well, I was drunk and-"

"Since when are _you _drunk?" she looked genuinely shocked at her younger brother, but also appeared amused.

"I came back on the Friday after drinking more than I have in years. I'm surprised you couldn't recognise."

"I was probably drunk too. Honestly John, you shouldn't drink the stuff."

"You drink it all the time-"

"Yeah, that's the problem. _All the time. _Now look at me, every night I seem to get pissed out of my head and I don't know why. I wake up with a pounding headache but I still drink. You're _boyfriend _can even tell I'm an alcoholic, but somehow dad can't?" she looked as if she was about to cry, which looked uncharacteristic of her, "I even had a drink after dad left, just to calm my nerves. I try and stop myself John. I really do, but I just can't. So John, don't end up like me, okay? Please- just...don't."

John could hear his sister silently sob to herself as she also leaned her head in her hands. Even though they had their ups and downs, John had never seen his sister break down in front of him as she did now. He lifted his arm and threw it over her shoulders and pulled her closer. It seemed weird: being in a situation like they were now. It was definitely a change from constant arguing they had together.

"Why are you being so nice to me?" she asked, "I'm always a bitch to you, aren't I?"

"We're brother and sister, you're supposed to act like a bitch towards me," He felt her vibrated laugh against his shoulder, "But it doesn't mean we can't be there for each other, even if you can be intolerable."

"Are you going to do what dad says?" She looked up at him with concern, "Are you going to stay away from Sherlock?"

"Nope. I intent to see him as much as I want to, and I don't care what people think."

"As long as you're happy, but just be careful okay? And remember, I'll be there when you need me, because that's what sisters are for right?"

So there they sat. Comforting each other until their worries and fears had died down. Even though he felt his arm go numb, he never let go of his sister, who had fallen asleep. She wanted help; he could tell. The last few months had been hard for not just him, but for his sister; his mother and his father too. But if they let worries get in their way, sneaking into the cracks of their family, they would soon fall apart. That's why it's everyone's job to be there for each other. To keep the family together and strong.


	17. Chapter 17 Important Note

This time he couldn't run away; it was impossible. Unless he waited for his parents to drive away before running out of the building, then it was possible. However, the receptionist-Mrs Johnson- watching his every movement didn't help with his plan. After yesterday, she wasn't going to let John out of her sight. Somehow for a school that was a complete dump, they didn't want people skipping school. As he entered the building, he looked back to see the car drive away from the school and out of sight. This was it- John thought- it was time to face the music.

"You better not make a run for it Watson. Do you want to throw your life down the drain?" she sighed as she got up from the desk and walked over to him, "Mr Scott has asked me personally to escort you to your form."

They both walked down the corridor, with John being watched by her from behind his back. A couple of people were stood here and there, and they hardly ever turned their heads. No one was staring at him; he expected that the whole school would have known by now. John reached the door to his form, but before he could enter, Mrs Johnson pushed past him and opened the door herself.

"Mr Daley, I've been told to escort John Watson to form." she said, pushing John into the room. He could see Mike- the only Y11 besides him in their form- sat at the back of the room, who raised his head when he heard John's name.

"Ah yes, thank you Mrs Johnson. That'll be all." said Mr Daley, looking up from his computer. With one last stare from Mrs Johnson, she walked out the room and shut the door behind her, "Decided to show up today Watson?"

"Um- yeah. I was ill yesterday, so I wasn't in." He could practically hear his lie himself.

"Of course. Just go to your seat. Form ends in fifteen minutes." he said. John wasted no time in walking to his seat to sit down. When he was finally settled down, he cautiously looked over at Mike, who just happened to be looking back at him.

"Hey Mike." he said, but Mike still looked at him, "What's up?"

"You know what's up John. The whole of Y11 knows about you. Where were you yesterday?" he asked.

"I was ill."

"Of course you were. Don't lie John, you were scared, weren't you?"

"Of course I was bloody scared. You're the only person here who doesn't scare the hell out of me. And what do you mean the whole of Y11?"

"I mean. The every single Y11 in this school knows that a) you're gay and b) you have this thing for Sherlock, who everyone remembers as the psychopath. Why couldn't you just have kept it quiet?" he looked sternly at John and sighed.

"What does everyone say?" asked John, curious to know.

"Most don't really care, from what I've heard. A few people think it's hilarious. Some have a problem with it. Sarah's still pretty pissed off with you, who can blame her. And- you know how Anderson and Sally feel."

"I didn't need to guess for that one. But besides most people, no one minds?"

"Well, not really. If they did, they haven't said anything." he said, leaning forward in his seat, "What happened?"

"What are you talking about?"

"You just walked out of that house on Friday. With Sherlock. Without saying anything. What happened?" he said. John stayed silent. "You're joking? You must be. I thought he wasn't interested in all that."

"Well, he is now." he chuckled, earning a confused look from Mike, "To tell you the truth Mike, I'm still not sure about what is happening between me and him. I've hardly talked to him."

"But you two are-"

"Together? Yeah, I guess so." John looked over at Mike and saw that he was shaking his head; laughing at the same time, "What's so funny?"

"You know, of the three years I've known him, I'd never thought he was gay-" the bell for first lesson interrupted Mike, but he continued as he got out of his seat, "I guess you learn something new every day, eh? We've got Chemistry now, have we?"

"Have we?" he sighed. He hoped that it was English, "But what's Anderson going to-"

"Well, he isn't going to have a go at you in class. Well, I think he won't. It depends."

At least Mike hasn't complained about him, John thought. But nothing could stop the worry and fear that he felt, walking to Chemistry. He couldn't see before, but now he could. People were staring at him; John couldn't tell how many people, he couldn't concentrate enough to count. But as he stood outside the chemistry door- with Mike stood next to him- he felt his brain run wildly with thoughts and expectations. He reached out his hand- slowly, but shaking from the dread- and pushed the door open.

* * *

"Copy pages 8-19 from the books. Once you're done, answer questions 17-18. Then just revise for Chemistry." said Ms Ball, the chemistry teacher. She handed out the books before walking back to her desk. Everybody ignored her instructions and talked to each other instead. John sat at the back of the room with Mike and three others. He watched Anderson's every move he made. Nobody seemed to be looking at him; maybe he was just telling himself that, he thought.

"Stay in your seats people. I've got to go sort out a few things." she grabbed her blazer before running out of the room, "Keep doing your work!"

After she left, the whole room suddenly dropped. The atmosphere was tense; something was up. Slowly, every single head turned to face John; only thing he could do was sit there and stare at the door, wondering why it was so far away.

He started to feel the eyes of Mike stare at him also, the whole table was now looking at him. However Anderson wasn't. He was still staring down at his book; not paying any attention to him. This should be comforting, but it was actually rather frightening.

"Alright John?" asked someone from the front, "How was your weekend?"

"Um- It was- It was alright." he looked down at his book and started to write again.

"Hey John, did you go to the party on Friday?" said somebody else. John knew where they were going with this.

"Uh yeah, why do you want to know?" he asked casually, but he could have sworn his voice changed in pitch.

"Oh, no reason. Just making conversation-"

"Is it true you're gay?!" shouted one of the girls-Jess- from his sociology class; a few people laughed and others stayed silent.

"I think it's disgusting if you ask me." said Brad, the person next to Anderson.

"Well no one asked for your fucking opinion, did they?" said this boy from the opposite room. John thinks his name is Dean.

"You keep your mouth shut Dean!"

"And I can't believe you and Sherlock-"

"Wait...him and SHERLOCK? Not heard that name in ages!" he looked up and saw Anderson's hands clench tighter around his pen at the name of Sherlock, his knuckles were going white.

"What's wrong if he's gay?" said a girl on his table, her voice barely heard over the laughs and murmurs of people.

"Oh, you finally speak up now do you? You keep your mouth shut too!" shouted Jess.

"Jesus Christ people, calm down. Who gives a shit that he's gay?" said Mike. John was suddenly taken aback from his support.

"Oh, I don't know. Most of our year Mike. It ain't normal," Brad turned his gaze from Mike to John, "And you've kept quiet about all this. So tell us John, what's it like being a faggot and with that psychopath Sherlock Holmes?" A few people tensed at the word 'faggot' and started to shift in their seats; John also.

"I- I um-"

"Stuck for words John?" said Sally, "That's a shock coming from you. You weren't like that on Saturday. You were going on about Anderson here should 'calm the fuck down'. The same person who got drunk out of their head, got off with Sarah AND Sherlock in the same night."

"God, you're such a freak!" shouted Brad, but as he spoke, Ms Ball came back into the room with a look of horror on her face.

"What on earth is going on?!" she shouted, looking from John to Brad, "I've been standing outside that door for a good 20 seconds. I say get on with your work and you don't listen to me?! I don't care about what happened, just get on with your work!"

And so they did. Everyone turned back into their seats and continued to do the work as if nothing happened. Well, all except Brad and Sally who were staring intensely at him. He feared that if he looked up at them both, he would lose all sense.

But he was losing sense already. He couldn't focus. He could hardly breathe in the room. Air, that was what he needed. He dropped his pen and walked quietly but fast towards Ms Ball's desk.

"Ms- Ms Ball?" he asked. She looked up from her computed and glared at John, "Can I- go to the toilet?"

She sighed before handing him the pass. John took it willingly and walked faster out of the room and down the corridor. Finally he was able to breathe, as he could hardly before. Luckily there was nobody in the corridors to witness him running down them. He felt like an easy target in the hallway. When he got into the school toilets, he walked over to the sink and cleansed his face of the sweat he worked up while in Chemistry. He used the back of his sleeve to wipe off the water; when he looked at himself in the mirror, he couldn't help but laugh. He wasn't in the slightest bit cheerful, in a way, he was rather depressed. Yeah, some people were alright about him and Sherlock. But yet again there were some people that weren't.

"What's so funny John?" Said a voice that echoed in the room. He hoped that it wasn't who he thought it was, but unfortunately, the same person walked into John's view. Anderson.

"Nothing's funny. Why would something be funny?"

"Oh I don't know, that's why I'm asking you." Anderson took one look at John before storming over to him and pushing John back a tile wall, "Why don't you listen to me John? I told you to stay away from him and you end up shoving your tongue down his throat."

John squirmed against the wall; trying to free himself of Anderson's grasp by pulling on the arm pinning him. He tried to call for help but somehow he couldn't find his voice; instead he ended up gasping, trying to calm himself down.

"Just think of this as a first attempt. I'm not finished yet John. You haven't heard the last of me. You think I'm just going to let this slide over my head?" he gave a hard shove, causing John to hit his head on the wall, "Do you?!"

"N- No!" He cried.

"Good!" Anderson let go of John and started to walk back out of the room, but didn't turn around and kept looking John straight in the eyes, "Don't think this is over John. I'm only just getting started."

* * *

Somehow a library seemed comforting to be in. It was an escape from the outside world. John was so scared that he wouldn't even dare to enter the dining room. There was the problem of having nowhere to sit; half the room probably hated him and Anderson would be there. So the library was his next decision.

He could see himself staying in the library until the school year ended. He would revise like his life depended on it; in a way, his life did depend on how well he would do. He would sit around and read whatever he wanted and there would be nobody there to insult him, mock, threaten or shout insults at him. He was safe in there.

John sat at a desk in the corner of the library and thought back to what it was like before he was bullied. There was a time when people looked up to him as a friend or someone who gives advice. People were kind to him and treated him well.

Now there are people in this school who pity him; hate him or want him dead. He had no friends. Sherlock couldn't be there for him when he's in school. Slowly, he could sense that he was failing on some of his lessons. And all of these problems doesn't even include his family life.

His father gets violent; his mother is helpless. As he looks at his sister everyday, he could feel her slipping away from their life and slant towards alcohol. John knows that his sister said a lie yesterday. Of course it was. She was never going to change.

He couldn't help himself, but he felt the need to let it all out, so he did. At first he felt his eyes sting and water; luckily, there was nobody nearby to see him. Then he felt the first teardrop fall down his face. Then the second. Then the third. It all became out of control. It was too much.

But then he heard somebody pull the seat across from him, so he looked up. It was the same girl who was in his Chemistry class: the one who was on his table; the one who stood up for him.

"Oh- um. I'm sorry, do you mind if I sit here?" Even though laughs couldn't be heard this time, her voice was still quiet; John only just heard her.

"Yeah sure, you can sit there if you want." He moved his bag to his side of the table and wiped his eyes with his sleeve.

"Why are you crying?" She looked concerned for him. He was glad somebody felt sympathy, but he also felt useless and weak.

"It's kind of a long story, you wouldn't want to hear it."

"I'm all ears, well not literally." She got out her lunch from her bag and placed it under her bag so nobody would see it.

"Why would you want to hear my story? You already know about me being-"

"Yeah, I know that. But you look distressed and I wanted to be helpful. Somehow when I see people cry, I start to cry. And people were being awfully mean to you in Chemistry, I tried to stand up for you, but I just-" she tensed and looked shyly down at the floor.

"Look, it's fine. And thank you for standing up for me." he gave her a reassuring smile that she openly returned. He held out his hand to her, "I'm John. John Watson."

She looked at his hand nervously, but then smiled before replying to his handshake, "I'm Molly. Molly Hooper.

* * *

**IMPORTANT:**

**Okay, there are a number of reasons why this chapter's late:**

**1) I had to revise for some practice exams.**

**2) I had writers block.**

**3) I haven't got the time.**

**So I hate to say this(and I really, really do) but this will be the last chapter I upload before I start my exams. So there won't be any updates between now and the end of June.**

**Once I've finished my last exam(Statistics), then expect two updates every week. I'm also planning out a sequel to 'The Unwanted Holmes', my first fanfic, to upload on the one year anniversary of the story.**

**I'm very sorry about this. I have so much to revise in so little time.**

**See you in 2.5 months :(**

**SJ**

**P.S. Form is where you get 2+ students from every year/grade and put them into a group for as long as they're at that school. I don't know if you have it anywhere else, but we do in the UK.**


	18. Chapter 18

"Do you ever think about what will happen?" asked John, staring up at the ceiling of Sherlock's room. The countdown towards exams has started, three months until he has to endure hours and hours of revising. Everyone in his year can say goodbye to having a life, because once the exams start, everyone will be locked in their room with their phones off and their desks scattered in notes and books.

The logical idea would be to start revising now to save the trouble of late revision, but somehow John hadn't felt up to it and instead was doing something much more productive: staring up at an unpainted ceiling while laying on Sherlock's bed, with his headphones in one ear. In the background, he could hear Sherlock kneeling down on the floor beside the bed, trying to reach for something underneath, but wasn't succeeding.

Ever since he first entered the room three hours ago, Sherlock had made an effort to find this questioned object; whenever John would ask, Sherlock would just shrug his shoulders and continue to look around. Three hours later, Sherlock was still trying to find this object, slowly turning every item in his room upside down.

"What are you talking about?" he asked, still looking under the bed.

"Life, Sherlock. That's what I'm talking about. Do you ever think about what will happen to us after we finish out GCSE's, and A-Levels and whether or not we go on to university? Will we be successful or won't we be successful?"

"Basically, you're asking where I see myself in ten years time."

"No, not that. It's just we've had all this pressure put on us since we were eleven years old. At the start of our lives, we're told we could be whoever we want to be, no matter how impossible or unrealistic. Now that we're older, we're told that finding a job that pays well, getting a mortgage and a car is what we should aim for, not aiming towards being...I don't know-"

"A pirate?" he said, lifting his head briefly before going back down to the floor again; John couldn't contain his laughter. Now that did take him by surprise.

"Why did you say pirate? Out of all the things you could have said." John turned himself so that he was facing Sherlock, raising himself on his right elbow to stare down at Sherlock's figure.

"It was what I wanted to be when I was younger. But then Mycroft told me it was a stupid idea, so I just decided that I wanted to become a detective. I guess it's much more fun." said Sherlock, before giving a sigh of gladness as he pulled out a heavy book from under his bed, "You wouldn't believe how long I've been looking for this."

Sherlock lifted himself from the floor and flung himself on the bed; John managed to move quickly enough to leave space for Sherlock. Grabbing a pillow from behind his head, Sherlock lifted it higher and rested his head so that he was still able to read the book. John copied his moved and scooted closer to Sherlock, to try and see what he was reading.

"What kind of a book is that?!" asked John, after seeing the words 'once the corpse starts to become...'.

"101 ways to find a killer. Incredibly interesting. You'd be surprised by the number of killers who don't clean their fingers after firing a gun."

"What goes on in that funny brain of yours?" said John, gently tapping Sherlock's temple, receiving a low rumbled chuckle from Sherlock that vibrated in his throat, "But like I was saying, why do people feel like they can choose what happens to us? My mum wants me to be a doctor and my dad wants me to be in the army, but when I told them I wanted to be an army doctor they weren't really keen, so I can't win one way or another."

John waited for Sherlock to say something, but it looked as if he was lost in what he was reading. It was at that moment when John got a chance to stare at them both. They were both lying down on the bed, thighs and arms brushed against each other. It was a rare moment for them to be caught like this. John loved moments like this.

When it became clear that Sherlock wasn't going to answer him anytime soon, John left him to read as he rested on his back, closed his eyes and tried to fall asleep to pass the time. However, when John was close to falling asleep, Sherlock nudged him with his arm as he put the book on the bedside table.

"John, I know that you were trying to sleep, but I have to bring this up. It has been on my mind lately, and it's because of that why I haven't been focusing on my experiments recently." John opened his eyes and looked up at Sherlock, who was staring at empty space, but obviously looked troubled.

"Go on." he turned again to face Sherlock properly this time, snapping himself back to consciousness.

"Well, we've been together for awhile now. More than I have with someone in a lifetime, well in actual fact you've been the only person I've been with in my lifetime. That's why I'm so confused; I've never let myself get romantically involved with someone before, so surely you must understand how awkward all of this still is, even if we have been together for four months."

"Yeah, I understand. So, what's the problem?"

"John, you're a fifteen year old teenager who is sexually active-"

"Hey! I'm not sexually active-"

"-and has urges for a more 'physical' relationship. And you know I can't give you that. But when you suggest exchanging 'hugs and kisses', then I can put up with that. But when it comes to sexual intercourse...the body is just transport to me, I don't get these urges like you do. I don't long for those types of things but I know you do. So what I want to know is why aren't you with anybody else who can give you a physical relationship? Why are you still interested in me?"

John saw the confusion in Sherlock's eyes and couldn't help but smile at him, thinking about how incredibly stupid Sherlock was acting. He shuffled closer towards Sherlock and placed his hand on top of Sherlock's, which were resting on his chest. Sherlock looked down at their hands and then back towards John.

"Sherlock, stop being such a drama queen and think-_properly think_- for once. Don't look at me like that, you think all the time, some say too much. Maybe that's why it's so hard for you to see the obvious," he paused; waiting and thinking of the right words to say, "I- don't want...a physical relationship with you because you don't want that. I'm not going to be one of those bastards who pressure you into something you don't want to do. I'm not a monster you know."

"But one day you will. Maybe in a month or two you'll ask me if I'll be ready and I won't be. Then you'll get bored and then you'll leave. People leave and I'm...fine with that."

"Okay, seriously though Sherlock, just shut up for a minute. I won't get bored of you. I won't leave. You'll probably leave before I will, because I'm not the one who's going Kensington, am I?"

Maybe John shouldn't have said that. The whole room stayed silent as John was too afraid to say anything else. The only sound that could be heard was from both of them breathing heavily; Sherlock's chest lifted and deflated. After what felt like hours, Sherlock jumped out of the bed and started to pace back and forth in his room.

"About that, I've been thinking," said Sherlock. John was trying to look Sherlock in the face, but he was pacing too fast, "Kensington does sound far, maybe it would be best to look at colleges nearby. For my mother's sake, of course."

"Right," John sighed in relief, but straightened his tone again, "I mean, if that's what you want. Good for you Sherlock. You don't know Kensington as much as London anyway; you can always rely on London."

"Yes, my thoughts exactly." he stopped pacing and turned to face John who was now sat up straight; his legs dangling off from the bed, "So it's settled then."

"I'm glad! I really am. You could end up like one of those detectives that work at Scotland Yard; I just can't imagine you sat at a desk eating a doughnut."

The thought was strange to John, as he rarely saw Sherlock eat. Imagining Sherlock in a job is also strange as he rarely saw him not take orders from anyone else. John scooted over to the other side of the bed, signalling Sherlock to sit next to him, which he did willingly. Both of them sat up straight this time, but were still sat close to each other, feeling the warmth from each other.

"Has anyone ever told you that you talk like an adult, I mean you could have just said sex, not 'sexual intercourse'." he said, turning his head to look at Sherlock, who also copied his move, "I mean there's nothing wrong with that."

"If you can wear ugly jumpers and listen to Madness," he grabbed John's right hand and raised it up to his lips. He hesitated before gently kissing the back of his hand, making sure he wasn't pressing too hard or too soft, "then I can wear suits and talk like an adult."

"Okay, first of all Madness is a great band. Secondly, my jumper's aren't ugly, they're warm," with his left hand, he pulled at his jumper towards Sherlock's gaze, who was grinning at the sight, "Also, why on earth are you kissing my hand? I'm not a bloody girl, Sherlock. Why did you do it anyway?"

"Isn't that what partners do? I saw it somewhere once. To 'show affection'?" he dropped John's hand away from his mouth, but never let go of his grip, "Am I right?"

They both turned to stare at each other before bursting into fits of laughter, faint tears streaming down their face as they tried to gather their senses. Making Sherlock laugh was one of the few things he was proud of. Whenever he would visit Sherlock's house, he hardly smiled, even when he with his mother. The thought of it made John sad, to see Sherlock with no emotions.

Three months. Three months until exams. It felt awful even thinking about it, but if John wanted to achieve well and get grades which could make his parents-especially his father- proud, then that meant hours of revising. And that meant he would hardly visit Sherlock anymore. Even his father had told him that his social life had to be put on hold; 'revision is key' is what he would usually say.

Three months. He could do this. He had to.

* * *

**Hooray I'm back! Well, technically I still have one exam left in 10 days. But I did it! It was hard to think of how to start off this story again, but I did it. It's done. I'm happy. *collapses onto desk from relief and happiness***


	19. Chapter 19

A week before the first exam, Mike thought it was a good idea to revise with a group of people for a day, considering he was taking the same exam as John. What really shocked John was that Mike suggested they revise without Sally, or Anderson, or even Sarah. Feeling curious, John asked Mike why he didn't want them there; he said they were too busy. Maybe that wasn't the case, John thought. Over the weeks, he noticed- when he would pass by- that Mike rarely talked in the group anymore, and the rest of the group tend to ignore him.

It was decided that this Saturday morning, they would meet up at the library Mrs Hudson worked in (as John suggested) and revise until late in the afternoon. Gathering up his books and putting them in a bag, he walked down the stairs and left the empty house. Both of his parents were at work; however he hadn't seen his sister since last night, before she left to visit her friends.

Considering it was the start of May-and that it rained during most of the first months- there wasn't a cloud in the sky; the sun's beam stretched over the sky, radiating its heat onto the pavement and reflecting back up. It was decided-thought John- that it was the wrong day to wear a jumper, no matter how much he loved them.

Since it was still morning, the roads were quiet with the occasional workers on their way. It must have been the first time in weeks that John was able to walk down the road without having to dodge people walking in the opposite direction. It was already proven that today was going to be better than previous days, what with his father urging him to revise during his free time and forbidding him to even step out of the house, unless it was for school. It was lucky that he even got to go out today; if he didn't revise for five hours last night, then he wouldn't be meeting up with Mike.

As John was about to turn the final corner before reaching the library, he caught a glimpse of-what looked like- Molly walking in front of him. Surprised, he ran a bit faster in order to reach her. When he finally did- after calling her name, which she responded by turning around-she looked just as surprised as he did, and froze in her place. Since the exams were important to him and his family, he restricted himself from getting too distracted with

"Molly!" he called, moving closer towards her, "I haven't seen you in a while, how've you been?"

"Oh- uh, you know. Busy, what with revision and all," she looked nervous, looking behind herself and side to side, "How's revising been for you?"

"I'm coping." he said, "Well anyway, what are you doing now?"

"I'm just meeting someone in there," she said, turning to point at the same library John was going to, "They asked if I wanted to meet up and revise before the exam next week."

It took only seconds for John to realise, "Mike asked you here, didn't he?"

"Why yes, he did. I thought it was a lovely thing to ask me. Because we sit next to each other in Religious Studies and he asked me during class. How did you know?"

"He asked me to meet him for the same reason," he said, as he began walking again down the street, with Molly trailing closely behind him, "I didn't know you took R.S."

"You must be in a different class to me." she said. Before John was able to open the door, Molly gently grabbed him by his upper arm and asked, "Do you think he meant to invite both of us? Not just one of us?"

"I think he wanted us both to meet him here. Why? What's up?" he asked, finally opening the door. However, she didn't have time to answer as they heard Mike call for them over at a table in the front of the window.

"John! Molly! Over here!" he said, getting up from his seat and walking towards them, "Nice to see you both. Do you want anything to drink? The lady who works here asked if I wanted anything to drink, so do you guys want anything?" both shook their heads and took their seats as Mike went to get a drink, settling down all their bags on the floor.

Sitting at the window made the heat far more worse to bear, as John could feel the heat reflecting on his face. The place was still quiet, which saddened John as he had grown to love the place. Besides Tesco and school, this place was the only place he would go to when not at home. He was grateful that Sherlock showed him this place. After the awkward silence between John and Molly, Greg came back to the table with his drink and settled himself down in-between the two.

"Look at the weather! It's bloody boiling out there, luckily I wore this," said Mike, looking down at his clothes in satisfaction, "Sorry about you John. At least Molly and I were cleverer enough to wear stuff like this. And why do you like jumpers so much? Enough to wear it in this weather?"

"I like jumpers no matter what the weather is, so they're staying. And besides, after the past few weeks I thought it was going to be cold. You can't blame me."

"Well, that's the great British weather for you." said Molly, taking out her notebooks and setting them down on the table, "Unpredictable."

"Yep, first it's cold and pissing it down. The next it's weather like this. Looks like we choose the right weather then," he said, nodding over towards Molly, who was already reading over her notes; her eyes scanning quickly over the text before turning to the next page. Mike and John thought they should do the same and got their books out of their bags, spreading them over the table. As John was about to read his notes, Mike kicked him under the desk, so John looked up, "Hey John, do you have the text book we use in class? I forgot mine at home."

"I don't have mine either, but I think this place has it. I'll go look now."

"No, I was just asking, you don't have to-"

"Nope, it's fine. I need to get away from this bloody window." said John, getting up from his seat and leaving the rest to revise as he went to look for the textbook. At least this gave him a chance to look around and take his mind off the exams. The silence in the library was scary, but at the same time wonderful. It's definitely a change from the traffic of London, but yet you're never sure if you're alone or not in there. Even when he was close to their table, John couldn't hear them yet he knew they were there.

There were many books in this library, but everywhere he looked, he just couldn't find the one Mike wanted. He wasn't willing to go back to his seat just yet, so he decided to waste a few more minutes to walk around the place. Taking his time to scan the spine's of the books. When he reached the next part of the library-at the back of the library- he saw a tall, slender figure hide behind another bookshelf nearby. It looked as if the figure saw him, as they ducked their head behind the bookshelf. Since he was curious, John decided to follow the figure without any precaution.

As he quickly turned the corner-in hope to surprise the stranger- he came face to face with the person; each of them jumped at the other's sight. However, as he looked up to stare at them, he was relieved to know the person. The person was about to walk away from John, but then John decided to speak.

"Sherlock? Is that you?" he said, turning the figure's shoulder around so that they were properly facing each other, "It is you!"

"Hello John, fancy seeing you here. Taking a break from revising are you? So much for being focused then, isn't it?" he said, "Anyway, can't stop now. Have important things to attend to."

Sherlock was about to turn and walk away again from John, but was stopped as John's hand was-yet again- pulling him back, "Oh no you don't. Were you watching me? Why were you watching me like a stalker?"

"I wasn't watching you like a stalker, what a phrase to use. I simply saw you walk in with Molly to meet Mike as I was about to leave, so I decided to stay for a bit. What's wrong with that?"

"You do realise we're together don't you? You don't have to keep hiding if I'm with Mike. They don't mind, you know."

"Of course I know that John, I'm not stupid you know." said Sherlock, however he still looked concerned, "I wasn't hiding from you anyway, I was hiding from Molly."

"Molly? What's wrong with Molly? What's she ever done to you?" he asked, slightly offended that Sherlock would use Molly as an excuse.

"Ever since Year 7 she has had this attraction for me. I have never showed signs that I felt the same, but she still showed attraction for me. When she found out that I was leaving school she wouldn't speak to me again. Now, do you see why I was hiding?!" he said, acting slightly agitated. Although once he saw John's amused expression, he got irritated and asked, "What's so funny? This isn't funny."

"Well it is to me. Look, just follow me for a minute," asked John, grabbing Sherlock's hand and pulling him closer to where Molly and Mike were sat. Both of them stood behind a bookshelf and saw the pair sat at the table laughing and enjoying each other's company. John turned to look at Sherlock's expression and explained, "She knows that you and I are together. We've talked and from what I've seen or heard, it looks like she doesn't care. Really, she doesn't. I think she's more interested in Mike right now, not you. There, are you happy?"

Sherlock continued to look at the far table until he grabbed John's hand and pulled him out of sight. John turned to look at Sherlock, who seemed to still look worried, even though John tried to explain. As John tried to pull his hand away, Sherlock grasped his hand tighter so that he couldn't let go.

"This isn't about Molly, is it? You're still worried that they won't like you?" John said in sudden realisation.

"Don't be idiotic, John." he said, but as he turned to look at John, his face softened and he loosened his grip on John's hand, but it was still tight enough for making it hard for John to let go, "Well, just a bit. I'm not worried. I know this might sound very unlikely of me, but I feel as though I'll make a bad impression. I still think Mike doesn't like my...'presence'. I mean I don't care what people think about me, but about us..."

It was out of place for John to see Sherlock talk like this, as he always acted like he didn't care. It was extraordinary for Sherlock to show that he cares about what others would think. His hand was let go by Sherlock, so he took this moment to place both his hands on either side of Sherlock's face; his thumbs going over Sherlock's sharp cheekbones.

"He doesn't care; he's even told you that. Molly doesn't care; she's moved on, I'm sure of it. I don't care. Why should I care about what other people would think? As long as you're happy with other people, I'm happy." he said, dropping his hands to Sherlock's shoulders, "Okay?"

They were both staring into each other's eyes, perhaps far too long as it felt that they were standing there for hours; he hated to admit it-even though that hardly happens- but it was getting slightly awkward. With his own hands, Sherlock placed them above John's wrists and held them gently as he answered, "Okay."

As soon as they both were sure they cleared things up, John moved his hands down to his sides-as did Sherlock- and moved back to where Molly and Mike were sat; he could feel Sherlock walking behind him closely. When they got close, Mike looked over to John and smiled, and then turned is gaze over to Sherlock following behind him.

"Sherlock! How've you been?" he asked getting a chair from another table for Sherlock, "Haven't heard from you since November."

"I've been busy as usual." he said as he sat down in his seat, in between Mike and John, "But thank you for asking." he turned his head to look over at Molly, "Ah Molly, haven't seen you in a while."

"Yeah, it's-uh...been a while, yeah. You haven't- changed a bit...So, you've-uh- been busy then?"

"Yes, exams have made it harder for me and my experiments, but I've coped."

"Well, it's nice to know you've been alright." concluded Mike, who returned to his conversation with Molly as John returned back to revising. Sherlock shifted in his chair so that he could read John's notes, but then pulled out his phone from his pocket, as he received a new message. As he glanced to his side, John got a quick view of what the text message said:

**Sherlock, I've asked you to come home as soon as possible. It's urgent. Don't ignore this** **again. -MH**

John saw Sherlock put the phone back discretely into his pocket and continued to read John's book, which was strange as the text seemed important. He was about to bring the topic up, but didn't want to seem too curious as it didn't matter to him; he was just happy that Sherlock was being reasonable with him and his friends.

It wasn't until the next day later when John found out what the text message was for.

* * *

**Author's Note: This was really annoying to write. I didn't know what to write and I didn't know how to put this to words. The next chapter will be up soon. **

**SJ**


	20. Chapter 20

It was early Sunday morning when all hell broke loose. The sun hadn't even risen yet; the rest of the house was still quiet; and everyone was still tucked in beds fast asleep. There was a calm atmosphere in the house that usually lasted a certain amount of time, until everyone would wake up and cause havoc no matter what the day was. This time, the silence was broken earlier than usual. It all started with a knock on the door.

However, it was too loud to be considered a knock; it was more like a thunderous sound echoing through the house which immediately woke everyone up from their slumber. John immediately opened his eyes and quickly raised himself from the bed; hearing out for the noise again in case he was dreaming it. But he wasn't dreaming, because the same noise happened again, which followed by the slamming of doors and the sound of the rest of the family complaining about the time. John thought he should do the same; so quickly got out of bed and rushed to his bedroom door to open it.

Standing in the hallway was his sister who was looking down towards the front door where-he guessed-his mother and father were stood. Using his ears, he traced out their movements: the shuffling of their slippers; the turning of the locks; the handle quietly turning followed by the sound of many steps barging into the house.

"What do you think you're doing?!" he heard his father shout. John saw his sister hide behind the wall next to him, so that she was out of view, "What time do you call this?!"

"No need to act so shocked, Mr Watson. I'm not here to bring any harm." said a voice. The voice sounded so familiar that John swore he heard it before, "Just as long as you're cooperative."

"What the hell are you talking about? And how the hell do you know my name?! I've never met you before!" said his father, as his voice got louder.

"No, I haven't met you before. But what I do know is you're a retired soldier who has recently moved here from York in order to start a new life after your son was involved in an attack based on his sexuality. You have a violent history involving your family. Your daughter is an alcoholic and you have been violent towards your wife especially-"

"How the fuck do you know all that?! Who's told you?!"

"All in good time. Now there is a reason for why I am here and that reason is because of John Hamish Watson." said the voice. Now he knew where the voice came from. Mr Holmes.

"What do you want with John?"

"There's no need to hide Mr Watson." John could tell this was addressed to him, "You know me and I know you. I'm sure we can act in an orderly way, can we not?" said Mr Holmes. Bracing himself, he closed his bedroom door and walked past a shocked Harry so that he was in view of the rest. There were quite a few people downstairs who were mostly wearing dark suits and blocking room entrances, but there were only four people who stood out: His mother, father, Mr Holmes and-oddly enough- Mycroft, "Ah, Mr Watson. Do you remember who I am?"

"Yes- Yes of course I do. But why are you here? What's happened?" he asked, gripping tightly on his robes as he walked slowly-step by step- down the stairs. Never breaking eye contact with Mr Holmes.

"Well, due to certain circumstances, Sherlock has asked for you to visit him and nobody else. It would be advisable for you to come with us. I'm sorry it's on such short notice."

"Wait one minute. Did you just say Sherlock? You know Sherlock do you?" his father turned to look at John, "And how come he knows you John? Have you been seeing him again when I fucking told you not to?!" John didn't even breathe, "You have! You bloody well have when I said no. What are you playing at John?!"

"I- I'm sorry Dad. It's just he's the only-" he paused, making sure he would say the right word, "-good friend I've had here. I just can't stop seeing him just like that; he's not so bad once you get to know him."

"But don't you remember the way he talked to us John? He's a bloody psychopath and don't you tell me otherwise. Hanging around with him is the last thing you should have done. He's a freak-" John's father couldn't finish his sentence, as he was firmly pushed towards the wall by Mr Holmes, who was grabbing him by his shoulders and pushing down so his father couldn't escape; his father cried out in pain.

"Now, now Mr Watson. I have many men here that I could easily ask to do the job for me. I have no arguments against people who shout abuse at me," he paused, and looked directly at his father and pushed harder into the wall, "But when you mention my son, I can make your life far more difficult."

"You're- fucking-crazy!" his father spat, trying to claw at the pain of hands pinning him down, "Crazy just like your bloody son!"

Nothing was said for a moment. But many things could be said for the tension in this room, as people looked at each other and then back at the fighting pair. This was the first time John saw Sherlock's father be so protective, even if it was by harming his dad. John looked over at his mother and saw that she was trembling; maybe because of the shock or the fact that somebody mentioned father hurting her.

So John felt it was necessary to walk over to her mother and pull her into a tight embrace to calm her down. Harry finally appeared behind the wall and looked down her mother, so she joined them by running down the stairs to join in the embrace.

When John felt his mother calm down, he let her go and walked towards Mr Holmes, "I'll go-"

"No you fucking won't. You're not going anywhere with that psychopath-"

"SHUT UP!" shouted John. He didn't need to see, but he could tell that both his mother and sister looked up at him in shock, "JUST SHUT UP! I DON'T WANT TO HEAR IT!"

"Don't you dare tell me to-"

"NO! I'll tell you as much as I want! You've ruined out lives! I blame YOU for everything. No wonder mum's scared to talk to you, or Harry, or me for that matter. Sherlock's not the psychopath. YOU ARE!"

"John, you're young. You think I'm the problem?! Let me remind you who got themselves stabbed. It wasn't me, it was you. It was you because everybody found out you were a bloody faggot-"

"Brown. Stevens. Please escort Mr Watson out of the room while I have a civilised conversation with John here." ordered Mr Holmes. Two of the suited men appeared on both sides of his father and pushed him out of the room and into the back garden. By now his mother was in tears, as was Harry and John just stood there and faced Sherlock's family.

"What's happened to him? Is he okay?" he asked.

"I think it's best to leave all the information until we arrive back to Baker Street," Mr Holmes paused and let out an exasperated sigh, "Mr Watson. I've known for some time that you have been very close towards my son, which-surprisingly- he's replied to by also showing affection towards you. If you're the person that my son wants to talk to right now, then I think it's important for you to come with us."

It came as a shock to John to hear that Sherlock's family knew everything while his family knew so little; he felt as if he had let them down, for lying. John would go with Mr Holmes willingly if it was for Sherlock, but how could he leave his mother and Harry with his father. Once he goes, so does Mr Holmes; then Mycroft; then all those men in suits. There would be no one to care for them.

"But what about my mum-" he turned to look at his mother and Harry, "-and Harry. I can't just leave them now, not after that. Dad will-"

"John," his mother said who slowly released herself from Harry and walked to face John, "My brave John. I don't care that you didn't tell us about Sherlock. I had a feeling a couple of months ago. If he needs you then it's best if you go with this man. Don't worry about me or your sister, we can cope-"

"I can arrange for some of my men to stay with you until John is able to return home, just for your protection." suggested Mr Holmes.

"Oh, no thank you sir. I can assure you that-"

"Yes please," John said. With a simple nod, two more men from the side left their poses and walked to the back garden, "Just in case mum. I don't trust him alone with you two." Before he left, he quickly gave his mother and Harry a hug each before putting on his trainers to leave the house.

Outside was a row of three black cars that were pulled up to the sidewalk, of which John entered the second car, followed by one of Mr Holmes's workers, Mycroft and Mr Holmes. When the car started to move, John looked back at his house until it was out of site.

John was truly scared for what he might witness, as Sherlock rarely says that he needed John.

This wasn't right. It shouldn't have happened. When they first met, he thought that they were interesting; somebody who looked powerful but yet so peaceful. Not somebody who could have ended up like this.

When John first entered the living room of Sherlock's home, the sight was shocking. It couldn't be compared to what it last looked like. Last time, he was enchanted by the texture of the furniture; the details of the paintings; the warmth from the fireplace. Overall, it was the perfect description of home.

But as John looked at the room as it was now, his face turned to a sheet of white. The first thing that was noticed was the fire had gone out, and the only light came through the cracks of the curtains. Even if it was dark, John could still see the walls; and what they were covered in. Above the fireplace-on the wall- was scatters of blood that still trickled down the walls.

But none of these were shocking enough than what he saw in the middle of the room. Just the sight-or even the thought- of it made John's stomach turn to knots; it was an easy sight to make him sick. The thought of it happening to someone so innocent and someone so close to somebody he loved was heartbreaking. In the middle of the room-flat on her stomach- was Sherlock's mother: still and silent.

The last time he saw her-three weeks ago- she told John all about her trip to Verona as Sherlock made tea. It sounded as if she had the time of her life there, as she explained how she walked through the small streets and took part in the culture. To see her like this now- lifeless and cold- broke John's heart.

A man was standing next to her and was placing a white sheet over her body after examining her; making sure to cover not just her, but the pools of blood that formed around her. He felt that she was somebody to consider family; somebody to appreciate.

Gradually, John turned to look at Mr Holmes and Mycroft, who were also staring down at the body. However, they were emotionless: neither one were talking or showing any signs of sadness. This made John angry on the spot, as he thought they didn't care for her, but maybe that wasn't the case. He knew that Sherlock or his family were difficult when it came to emotions. Although, John couldn't possibly imagine how Sherlock was feeling now.

Sherlock. Where was he?


	21. Chapter 21

"Sherlock." John pointed out, still staring at the body, "Where is he?"

There was a pause behind him, before the two men joined his sides to also stare down at Mrs Holmes. John tried to hear out any sounds which could resemble Sherlock: the screeching of his violin or the clatter of chemical equipments. Anything. However, there was nothing. Nothing at all.

A hand grabbed John's shoulder lightly to guide him out of the room, "If you would like to follow us John." said Mycroft, who was guiding him slowly down the corridor and up the stairs, "But before we take you to Sherlock, you have to understand that this has had a more emotional impact on him than us. We would like for you to talk to him, and somehow maybe you can persuade him."

They stopped halfway up the stairs and Mycroft let go of John's shoulder. Confused, John turned around to see Mycroft nodding towards upstairs, signalling for John to go on without him. And so he did. With each step, John took his time and made sure the stairs wouldn't creak too much. As he looked down, Mycroft retreated back towards the living room; followed by his father.

The problem was he had no idea which room Sherlock was in, as they were all shut. So he tried the first one, which was a bedroom, but not Sherlock's. It looked as if nobody even slept in there, so he decided Sherlock wasn't in there.

The next room he knew was Sherlock's bedroom; however, it was far harder to get in than the other. But when he did, he had to pinch himself twice just to make sure it was his room. The first time he saw the room-months ago- it was like a tornado had passed through. Now, it was still like that, only the few things that Sherlock kept neat was nowhere to be found except shattered on the ground.

The experiments which were usually on his table looked as if they had been pushed by someone and smashed onto the floor, leaving unknown chemicals to leak through and onto the floor. The bed-which was usually untidy- had been turned onto its side, and looked like it knocked over the bedside lamp. The curtains were drawn close, which left a cold, uncomfortable feeling to whoever entered.

John closed the door quickly and ran to the next and assumed it was the bathroom. Grabbing the handle, he tried to turn it but couldn't as the door was locked. John decided straight away Sherlock was in here.

"Sherlock?" John called through the door, "It's me, John. Are you in there?"

There was a silence first before he heard somebody knock over a couple of items onto the tiled floor. Then-as he was getting more agitated- Sherlock called out, "They're fucking useless John! They can't do a bloody thing!"

"Sherlock, calm down. What are you talking about?"

"Scotland Yard, John. You'd think they'd be able to tell the difference between a natural death and a murder, but it looks as if they can't!"

"Wait, murder? What are you talking about?" John tried to open the door again, but pushed harder this time in hope the door would just fall down, "Look, just let me in!"

"My mother, John! Surely you saw her! When I came back yesterday, Mycroft told me about what happened before I saw her. When I entered, there was Scotland Yard, clearing up the crime scene. I told them that this wasn't a natural death, but do you think they believed me? Of course they didn't."

"Why do you think it was murder Sherlock? You're just angry, that's all; I get it-"

"You don't get it John. That's the problem. Nobody gets it. The blood splatter. The cause of death. The scratch marks on the floor. Now that doesn't look like a natural death, it looks as if somebody broke into the house and did this to her, and where was I-" Sherlock took a pause, "I was with you."

"Sherlock?" said John, slightly hurt, "Are you blaming me for this? You think this is my fault?!"

"Of course I don't John, I just-" John could hear his uncontrolled breathing from where he stood, "If I'd have known this would have happened, I could have stayed at home and-"

John wondered why Sherlock stopped talking, and instead heard the sound of drawers opening and closing, as if Sherlock was looking for something, "Sherlock?!" John asked, starting to panic, "What are you doing in there?!"

"It hurts John." Sherlock said, who finished looking in the drawers, "My head. I'm processing too much. Why couldn't they see it was a murder? How could I?"

"Sherlock-"

"Why is life difficult? Why couldn't I see the signs? I could have stopped it but I couldn't. I was thinking too much of the wrong thing. I should have known but I didn't. Me! Of all people. I can't control it, John. Make it stop, what can I do?"

John could hear the pain in his voice and wanted nothing more than to help Sherlock through this. Slowly, he let go of the handle and lowered himself down onto the floor on his knees and rested his head on the door, "Sherlock. You don't have to be on your own. You've got a lot of people who care for you. I'm one of those people. But please Sherlock, if you need help then please-for me- open this door."

He pressed his head harder into the wooden door; and placed his right hand on the wood in hope to push the door more. The sound of shuffling on the ground grew closer towards the door and before John could move his head, the door opened slowly. On the other side was Sherlock-who was also sat on the floor- who wouldn't look John in the eye. However-thought Sherlock's eyes- John could tell that Sherlock had been up all night, but also had been crying.

Quickly, John shuffled closer towards Sherlock and pulled him closer to a tight embrace and-using his foot- shut the door behind them. Hours must have gone by- John wasn't so sure- as John held him close, not releasing for anything. Sherlock held onto John's robe tightly and buried his head into the crook of John's shoulder and allowed himself to break down- not caring about how awkwardly they were sat- as John rubbed circles on his back.

John looked behind Sherlock to see what he was looking for in the first place, and on the side of the bathtub, he got his answer. A couple of razor blades were chucked onto the ground, but were still in their packets. Because of this, John started to panic; his gut turning into knots as he let go of Sherlock and instead placed his hands on the other's shoulders.

"You weren't." he said, looking from Sherlock back to the packet. "Please tell me you weren't, not after what happened."

"I- It hurts. I don't know why I got them out, I couldn't think straight. I need help, John." said Sherlock, tearing up again and tightening his fists on John's clothes, "My brain. There's something wrong. It's burning and I just, I don't-"

"Sherlock." said John, "You're thinking too much. Just look at me-" Sherlock clenched his eyes shut, "No, Sherlock don't do this. Just look at me, please!" his plea made Sherlock open his eyes to look up at John. The sight of Sherlock looking so innocent made John wince in his seat, but he ignored it, "You are a brave person Sherlock. The bravest person I've ever known and the most intelligent. I love you too much...how do you think I feel seeing you like this? Being so close to almost hurting yourself?" he asked. Sherlock just shook his head, "It breaks my heart too."

John used one of his hands to reach over for the razors to chuck them as far away as possible, "You're right Sherlock; I don't know how it feels. But please, just let me help you through this, because I can. Just start by telling me how you feel." Sherlock shot a confused glance at him, "I know it sounds stupid, but if you just let it all out now then maybe I can understand and be able to help you. I won't interrupt. Just use this time to tell me everything."

They both took this time to change their seating positions; they now sat side by side against the bathtub, which John's arm cradling Sherlock as his other hand joined with Sherlock's own, "It's their fault, you know. Mycroft and father. It's their job that killed her. When I was younger I asked what do they do in their jobs; they told me it was a secret. As I got older I realised that it was actually a secret that could potentially harm the family-" he paused, "I guess it finally happened."

"You can't blame them forever Sherlock, they're still your family."

"I know that, but their job does require us to have security follow us 24/7. Why were they not there for my mother when she needed help the most? The more I think about it the more I think of it as a crime."

"Maybe you should tell your dad what you think. He should listen to you, especially if it _was _murder. He wouldn't take risks." said John, looking down at Sherlock's curls which was rested on his shoulder, "You told him, didn't you?"

"He didn't believe me. Nobody did. I tried to tell Mycroft but he was too busy trying to get security sorted, but it's a bit too late for that." Sherlock laughed bitterly, which made John tighten his arm more on Sherlock, "There's just the problem of what I'm to do now. We won't be moving, I know because it would have an effect of father's work. I just- I don't know what to do anymore."

Neither did John. The fact that Sherlock was clinging onto him and wanting comfort made John feel weak, as he thought he wasn't doing enough. Using humour to lighten things up was his forte, as it worked many times in many situations, but now he had no more to say, and that made him feel useless.

John worried for their future. Eventually he would return home and if that happens, those men leave also; leaving his father with the rest of them. Either his father would shout nothing but insults at them all -or do worse- or storm out of the house and keep out for a week or two before he returned; if John was honest, he preferred the second option.

Maybe Sherlock was right about not moving, but surely- John thought- they couldn't stay here after all of this. For starters it was too dangerous and even John can't picture Sherlock's living room anymore without picturing his mother dead; maybe the same thing was happening to Sherlock.

"John?" Sherlock asked, raising his head from John's shoulder; breaking the silence, "I don't want to be a detective anymore."

This made John stare at him with wide eyes, as being a detective was what Sherlock wanted to be, "What? Why not?!"

"If it means working with idiots like the ones in my house today, then I'd rather be a...I don't know- a book collector than work with them. Mrs Hudson could help me with that."

"But- you were looking forward to becoming a detective? You'd be solving crimes like you wanted, jumping off rooftops and catching the bad guys; what's wrong with that?" he asked; Sherlock merely sighed at John and rested his head again, "Well, you could still be a detective...in a way."

Sherlock raised his head immediately and stared at John with interest, "Explain."

"Well, you could still solve crimes and such, but you don't have to work with detectives. Or you don't have to work with them _all_ the time. Like they could-"

"-come to me if they can't solve the crime?" Sherlock asked, as he thought about all the possibilities, "When they're out of their depths, they could ask me?"

"Yeah! Like a consultant! That is the right word, isn't it?"

"Yes exactly!" Sherlock jumped to his feet and paced in the small bathroom looking gleeful, which was definitely odd considering what he was like a minute ago, "I wouldn't have to work with them, I could just go to the crime scene; do everything there and then the case is solved!"

"Well you know what they say, all jobs need a title." said John, as his idea was to keep Sherlock happy for as long as he can. Looking at Sherlock-at that moment- made John curious as to why he was acting this way: was he trying to go off topic? Or maybe he's trying to delete the whole thing like last time, but how could he do that?

Sherlock stopped and retreated back down next to John; placing his hands under his chin as he thought about it; then he lifted his head and looked at John with a look of brilliance, "A consulting detective!"

"You'd be the only one in the world!" said John, sharing this short moment of happiness with Sherlock as much as he can, before they would face the outside word again.

"You know, I think we just invented a job." said Sherlock with satisfaction as he rested the back of his head on the edge of the bathtub. Taking the opportunity, John moved closer to Sherlock so he could rest his head on Sherlock's shoulder.

Whether or not the happiness would last, John wouldn't waste this moment as he absorbed every minute or hour they sat there together; in each other's company. He wouldn't use this time to think about the past or the future; instead, he thought about this exact moment when Sherlock looked truly happy after being in a state of despair; and how he looked at John with hope and not plea.

Neither of them must have had enough sleep, as John could feel himself and Sherlock slipping into unconsciousness. Sherlock whispered: "Will you stay? Please?"

John could hear his voice break at 'please' and felt even more sorry for him, so he grabbed Sherlock's hand; brought it up to his lips and gently kissed each knuckle before replying, "Of course."

The last thing Sherlock whispered before letting sleep overpower him was: "Consulting Detective." as if he was going over the idea in his head.

The last thing John said to Sherlock before he closed his eyes and knocked his head back was: "The only one in the world."

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**Thank you for reading :) Update will be next week :)**


	22. Chapter 22

Quickly, he opened his eyes once again to see that they were still sat on the floor after they must have fallen asleep. A knock on the door woke him up on the other side of the bathroom; so he gently-without waking Sherlock- removed himself from him and shuffled on the floor to open the door to find Mycroft staring down at him. To allow Sherlock privacy after today, he didn't open the door fully, so only Mycroft could see John.

"I've just been informed by father that Mr Watson has been taken to a secluded address for temporary." said Mycroft. He didn't move his head to try and look through the door, but his eyes were trying to- as John could tell- catch a glimpse of Sherlock.

"What? Why?" asked John, making a move to get up before Mycroft shook his head at him, so he stopped and sat back down, "Is my mum and Harry alright?"

"I can assure you your mother and sister are more than fine. We've moved Mr Watson to a different location in order to give your mother a time to think about future options." he said.

"Future options? What are you talking about?" asked John, slightly bewildered about waking up to this news.

"Surely after this morning your father would rethink his future decisions involving the family, and these decisions may have an effect on your future decisions."

"Okay-" he said, still confused, "So what happens now? What happens to me?"

"Well now, you can either go home or you can stay with Sherlock until you feel necessary to go home. When it comes to what will happen to you in the future, your mother will decide that; along with your sister."

If he was to go home, he would be betraying Sherlock. If he was to stay, he felt like he was betraying his own family, "If I stay, can I tell them that I'm staying?"

Mycroft looked and him before nodding his head, "Of course, until we make up proper room for Sherlock, which has already been done. Now would you please open the door?" Using his umbrella, he tried to push the door using the point, but John barricaded the door with his own body.

"Why?"

"Like I said, we have arranged a temporary room for Sherlock to stay in as the maids clean his own room. Of course you agree that a bathroom is an unfit place for rest?"

John turned his head to look over at Sherlock, who had slanted down the side of the bathtub, so that he was now resting his full body- from head to toe- on the floor. Although, he wasn't sure if Sherlock would appreciate being moved, but he mostly sided with Mycroft's decision.

"Okay." he said, getting up off the floor and opening the door for him, "So how are we going to move him?"

"There is no 'we', Mr Watson. I can assure you that I can carry him perfectly on my own," he said, handing over his umbrella to John, who took it in awe, at the fact that he never saw Mycroft without it. Hooking his arms under Sherlock's knees and back, he lifted the sleeping body off the floor with a swift- but slow enough not to wake him- speed. Sherlock twitched at the sudden movement, but didn't open his eyes, "Now if you would like to follow me Mr Watson, and I'll take you both to the new room."

Mycroft left first through the door, with John trailing behind him as they walked across the landing. It was weird- John thought- to see Mycroft act so 'brotherly' towards Sherlock. When they first met he came across as a very private and rude man; John still thinks of him like that in some way- as he would never forget the first time they met- but yet he now sees him as quite protective of his family.

They reached the door that John first entered when looking for Sherlock. John rushed forward so that he would be able to open the door for Mycroft, which he did just in time. Straight away, Mycroft dropped his brother onto the bed without waking him up as John closed the curtains: to keep the light out of the room.

"Sherlock has starved himself of sleep for 56 hours, so I would kindly appreciate it, if you would leave him to sleep until he wakes up on his own accord." said Mycroft. He held his hand out to John, indicating that he wants his umbrella back, so John gave it back freely before setting himself down on the end of the bed below Sherlock's feet, "I must say it's a shock to hear that you and my brother are 'involved' with each other. You see, our family believe caring is not an advantage, but I see that he thinks otherwise."

John shifted nervously into the bed -uncomfortable with Mycroft bringing up his and Sherlock's relationship- before removing his trainers, "Ca- Can I call my-"

"The phone is located downstairs in the living room. It is available at all times when you need it." said Mycroft. He rotated around on the spot and made a start to walk out of the room before stopping to speak, "I hope you realise how much Sherlock _cares _for you?"

John was slightly taken aback at the question, "Of course I do, and I feel the same way. I love Sherlock very, _very _much and I would do anything for him. I know this sounds a bit crazy but I'd kill for him, if the opportunity comes, because I care for him that much." said John, hoping he said the right thing. When Mycroft grinned at him, he took the answer as a yes, so smiled back in relief.

Of course he loved Sherlock, not matter what happens. If they were stuck in a life or death situation, he would protect Sherlock with all his might. If Sherlock was to go away for many years, he would still tell himself every day that he loved Sherlock and would wait for as long as possible for him to come back.

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Downstairs was quiet when John entered the living room, looking slightly nervous as to why the flat sounded so empty. After an hour of sitting with Sherlock, he decided that he should probably call his mum and talk about what Mycroft said.

Over at the right-hand side of the fireplace, he could see the phone, so went over to it; picked it up and dialled his home number. The phone ringed a couple of times before he heard somebody pick it up.

"Hello!?" said his mother, who was shouting as if she was rushing to answer the phone, "Who's this?!"

"It's John." he said as he leaned his body on the clean part of the wall: the part of the wall not covered in blood.

"Oh thank god you're okay. Where are you?"

"I'm with Sherlock at his home." he stopped, looking round to check if he was alone, "Listen mum, something happened here. I might have to stay all day, if that's all right."

"But John, we need you. You're sister's crying because those men took your father away-"

"I know that mum. But aren't you happy about that?"

"Of course I'm happy John, it's just that-" she sighed over the phone; John gripped harder onto the phone, "-John, I need you to listen for one minute, without interrupting, okay?"

"Okay." he said.

"Okay then. When they took your father away Mr Holmes visited us once again and told us that you're father's been arrested for domestic abuse-" John nearly dropped the phone "-as I gave evidence. They haven't told me how many months or years he would spend in prison, but all I know is that I'm afraid about what would happen if he were to come back out. What then John?"

"Well, he would find us and probably hurt us far more than he did before." said John, hearing a hum on the other side, "So what do we do?"

He could hear his mother shake the phone as she talked into it, which meant that she was nervous about something, "Well, your sister and I have talked over what we should do and what would be best for all of us; we also thought about our safety-" she took a pause, "John, this is going to be really hard for you to understand, and this will pain you the most. It's the only way that we can start again-"

For a while, John didn't understand what she was talking about, as he stayed silent trying to put all the pieces together. But then it suddenly occurred to him what his mother said about 'starting again'; he heard this said before. He didn't want to believe her; how could she suggest such a thing?

"No. No! Tell me you're lying! Tell me this is some sort of sick joke you're playing!" he shouted, breathing heavily onto the phone as he slammed his fist into the wall, "You wouldn't do this to me! How could you?!"

Over the phone, his mother started to cry again, but he didn't care this time. From what she was suggesting, sympathy would be the last thing he would give her, "I'm- I'm so- sorry John, there's no ot- other way. If we want to start again, then we have to move. We can't live in this house any longer, it's already been decided."

John could feel the phone slipping out of his hands.

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**Author's Note: So yeah, I decided to upload three days early to give you this chapter, which was quite difficult to conjur up together.** **Thank you for reading :) Comment on if you want this story to go in a certain direction or not and I'll consider it :)  
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**P.S. There will still be an update on Saturday :)**


	23. Chapter 23

The sound of steps from the stairs grew louder as John tried his best to look less in shock while trying to pick up the phone again. Picking up the phone was a difficult task, as his hands couldn't grip properly onto it. After several attempts and a line of curses whispered, he was finally able to pick up the phone. However as he got back up off the floor, he saw Sherlock stand in the doorway of the room.

"I heard shouting and you weren't with me." he said, walking closer to John, "Something's happened."

"Nope," he said. The phone in his hand was hidden out of Sherlock's sight, "Nothing's happened. Why? Do you think something's happened?"

"Judging by the curses you said to yourself and the fact that you're hiding the phone from me, I'd say there was something wrong, and there's no point in hiding it from me." Sherlock was about to step closer until his eyes lingered over to the blood stained carpet. This time he stopped in his tracks and stared at the spot and nowhere else. The way his eyes gawked at the spot made John step closer towards him; still not letting go of the phone. Using his free hand, he pressed lightly on Sherlock's cheek just enough for him to turn his eyes away.

"I'm being honest." said John, flinching at his own words, "There's nothing wrong. Just go back upstairs and I'll be with you in a minute."

However Sherlock didn't move, he just stood there and looked at John as if he was at a made up crime scene. John went along with it and stared back at Sherlock, trying to make it less obvious that there was something wrong. Just as John was about to return to the phone call, Sherlock asked, "I don't believe you. There is something wrong I can-"

John didn't give him time to finish his sentence, as he was already pressing his lips against Sherlock's. The touch sent a warming spark down John's back as he braced his hands on Sherlock's shoulders to get higher. At first Sherlock didn't move from the shock, but as John whispered to follow his lead, Sherlock did just that and soon they were in perfect sync with each other. John was just about getting into the kiss as much as Sherlock was; neither of them wanted to move away, but John was the first to make a move.

Without warning Sherlock, John pulled himself away and looked up at Sherlock who was opening his mouth as if he was about to say something, but quickly shut it. At least Sherlock was too distracted to remember about what was wrong with John.

"I- I uh, well-" said Sherlock, who started to walk back out the room, "I'll uh...I'll be upstairs then." Sherlock quickly turned away and sped up the stairs- John could tell by the sound of his steps on the stairs- while tripping every couple of step.

"Crazy bastard." he said, smiling in a smug manner to himself. But then he remembered the phone in his hand, and the smile faded. Lifting the phone to his ears, he heard crying on the other end from his mother, "Mum."

The crying stopped and his mother's voice came back on the other end of the line, "Please John, just listen to me for a minute."

"I don't know if I can-"

"You have to!" her breathing grew heavy as did John's, "We can't stay here anymore. Your grandmother has already said she's willing to take us in once we get settled down there and I've already said yes."

"Well what does Harry say, hmm?" he asked, trying to keep quiet as much as he could, "You know Clara is Durham still. How do you think Harry will take that?" he asked. There was a lengthy pause on the other end and John finally realised why, "She isn't coming with us, is she?"

The crying started again and John couldn't help but join in, "Sh- She wants to stay here. She's already told me that she's going to find a flat and live in London. It will just be you and me moving back-"

"Well, why can't I just stay with Harry?" he asked; now he was getting angry, "Put her on the phone!"

"But John, your sister is-"

"I don't care what she's doing. Put her on the phone!" he said finally, choking the last word through his tears. A conversation was shared over the other end before he heard his sister over the phone, crying also.

"John. Listen to mum, okay? I'm staying here because I can't go back. I can't see Clara after what I did. You and mum are going to move in with Nan and you can't say anything else-" this time she sounded as if she was getting impatient, "Jesus John, why do you have to put us through this again?!"

"Wait, me!? I'm not the psychopath who hits women now, am I? I did what I felt was right and dad just had to make it worse for everyone. Admit it Harry, even if he was our father you hated him-"

"No I didn't!"

"Yes you did. Don't lie to yourself Harry, we hated his guts. I'm perfectly fine with dad going to prison, and I can tell you are too-"

"No, I'm not. You've broken the family-" John could hear- over the thumping sound in his ears- the phone being moved around too much followed by his mother shouting at Harry, "It's your fault that dad's in prison and that we're moving away-"

"Harry, you've had too much to drink-"

"No I haven't! I don't need everyone telling me that I have. Especially not from you!" That was the last thing he heard before the phone was put down on him. It was as if his whole world was crashing down on him and trapping him in a pile of problems and that there is nobody there to help him. Suddenly he felt like the loneliest person in London. John put down the phone too and made his way over to the door, but stopped to see Mr Holmes at the doorway.

"I take it your mother has told you about their plan?" he said, moving over to the other side of the fireplace, "I am sorry John, about what has happened to your family. I'm sure Sherlock would understand-"

"But would he?" he asked. The thought of Sherlock turning away from him made John collapse down to the floor; his knees up and his back against the wall, "Would he really? He would just say that I'm one of those people who leave him and would never talk to me again."

"I know my son might not be as sociable as others, but I can assure you he is more than capable of understanding the feelings of people close to him, including you-" Mr Holmes walked over to the chair where Sherlock's mother used to sit and sat down, "You're the first person he had ever made friends with, let alone get romantically involved with. Do you know that?"

John didn't assume at the start that he was Sherlock's first true friend, but assumed that he was Sherlock's first boyfriend, or even girlfriend. This confused John, as he always thought there were many things that people can fall in love with about Sherlock. For instance, he was intelligent; brave; caring; and incredibly handsome with John never grew tiresome of, "I would have thought he had more friends besides myself. It's quite shocking really, to know that I was his only friend before, well, you know-"

"Mycroft is far older to not let caring overtake him; I assume he gets that from me. However, Sherlock is more like his mother. She cared too and so does Sherlock." he stared at the same place Mrs Holmes last was; just as Sherlock did, "It's going to be difficult for Sherlock to hear you're moving away."

"I know. Believe me; I've tried to tell my mum and Harry to consider anything else besides moving. I have enough pressure with exams coming up in a couple of days and all of this is just making it worse. But I'm just a teenager, who would listen to me?" he took a break to try and control his breathing again, "When should I tell him? Sherlock I mean, when do you think is the right time?"

Mr Holmes took his time to think the question through for John's sake; then he came up with an answer, "Your mother has informed me that you will be moving once you finish your last exam, which will be in two months. You should tell him as soon as you can and don't leave it till the very end. I have grown to accept you John Watson."

It took a while for John to decide, as there were many things that could happen because of it. Sherlock may grow to hate him or threaten to do much worse, just as he saw this morning. There was also the chance that he would 'erase him' just like he tried to do last time, and John never wanted that. Finally, after minutes of staring into space while his mind was reeling for a decision, he finally came up with his answer; he just hoped it was the right one.

Gradually he got up off the floor and brushed himself down of any dirt; Mr Holmes looked at him with a sense of intrigue as he also got up from his seat. Without looking at Mr Holmes, John brushed past him slowly and made his way for the staircase; making each step count. When he reached the bottom of the stairs, he looked up at the door which Sherlock was behind.

There was the option of choosing the exit and leaving Sherlock without explaining, but that was the worst thing- as John decided- he could ever do to Sherlock, so decided against the idea. Each step he took made a creaking noise from the wooden panels; making another rumbling sound when he lifted his foot from the step. There was a high chance that Sherlock could hear him; even if he was asleep, his steps would even wake the whole house up.

When he reached the landing of the second floor, he walked as quietly as he could towards the door. For some reason, John felt the door grow ten times in size and himself shrink to six inches tall. It was like the door was the last thing that barricaded Sherlock from John; keeping them apart. When he approached the door finally, he held his hand up to knock on the door but stopped. John went through all the options in his mind again and all seemed to point towards the same outcome.

John decided on what he would do, so knocked twice on the door before opening it himself. Inside was Sherlock sat at the top-middle of the bed with his knees up to his chest and his forearms draped across them. Once John finally entered the room and closed the door, he turned around to see Sherlock raise his head from his lap and look at him with uncertainty. This instantly put him off his final decision, but then he reminded himself of Mr Holmes's words: _Sherlock would understand...Don't leave it to the very end..._And so he didn't, he decided to tell Sherlock right there and then.

"Sherlock. I was lying. There is something wrong, and I'm going to tell you. But for the love of god, promise me that you would listen to what I have to say and then once I'm finished, you can have your say. Okay?" he asked, practically pleading to Sherlock in hope he would understand later on. Sherlock nodded, so John sat down on the other end of the bed and told him what needed to be said.

* * *

**Author's Note: I'm going to admit this, even I don't know what will happen next for these two. There are many decisions I have thought of and can't decide on which one to go through with. If you have any ideas, just leave a message and hopefully I can try and come up with a final decision :) Thank you to people who have been reading this story; the next update should be sometime next week :)**


	24. Chapter 24

Both sat cross legged-facing each other- on the rather large king size bed. Sherlock was waiting impatiently for John to tell him what happened, but John couldn't figure out how to make the news sound easy enough for Sherlock to take. There was no other way to say 'I'm moving away' to make it sound less heart wrenching than it actually was. But when John looked up from the bed and stared at Sherlock, he saw the eagerness in Sherlock's eye as if he was scared but interested in what John had to say.

"Well," John started, folding his hands in his lap, "I did lie to you, there was something wrong. I just didn't want to tell you at the time." Sherlock nodded, "It's really hard for me to say and it pains me so much to tell you now that I don't actually want to tell you."

"So why are you telling me?" asked Sherlock, "If it pains you so much?"

"Because I have to. This could change both of our lives and I don't want that. I want everything to be like it was before yesterday, when we were happy and excited about going to college and becoming older."

"I want that too John, god knows I do. But that would be virtually impossible."

"I know, and that's why I don't want to tell you this now, but if I leave it too late then it could ruin us. So I just want you to listen to me while I tell you. Feel free to comment on anything if you want to but just hear me out before you argue about it." Sherlock cocked his head to his left as he heard the word 'argue', but still nodded for John to trust him.

John used the extra space on the bed wisely to shuffle closed to Sherlock so that their knees were touching so that he could grab Sherlock's hands to hold them with his own. Taking a deep breath, he began to tell Sherlock what he had to say, "Well, I found out about what happened when your dad and brother came to my house in the middle of the morning. My dad was rather angry and when your dad did that deducing thing with him he got angrier. In the end your dad had my dad pinned against the wall while my mum watched."

"I'm sorry." said Sherlock who was annoyed that his dad would interfere with his family.

"Oh god, don't be. It's been the best thing that's ever happened to us. Your dad kept a few people behind to watch my dad while I came here, for my mum's sake." he took another deep breath, "A moment ago I called my mum and she told me my dad was arrested for domestic abuse."

"Jesus John, I- don't know what to-" John held one of his hands up near Sherlock's mouth.

"It's fine. I'm actually glad that it happened, the bastard deserved it-" he shook his head and grasped Sherlock's hands tighter, "Anyway, that wasn't _all _of what she said. She said some other things too-"

"Like what?" he asked. For a moment John stayed quiet; when he felt like he was going to say it, he opened his mouth but quickly shut it, "John, if you say this could change our lives then I would like you to say it. I'll understand."

That is what John hoped the most, but felt that Sherlock would change his mind once he told him, "Well, my mum was crying on the phone. She was really upset and so was Harry. You see, now that my dad's been arrested, my mum feels like we need to change again-" he paused, "And when I asked what she meant, she said-" John started to choke on his own words; it was like the words were trying to force its way out but wasn't succeeding. Then he started to cry. It wasn't quiet, composed sobbing, it was more like all the pain he had witnessed and experienced was all forcing its way out of him all at once, and John was too powerless to stop it.

"Hey, look surely it can't be that bad-"

"I'm moving." he said, still trying to talk while breathing in and out in a quick pace, "I- I'm moving. My mum said she can't stay here anymore after everything that's happened and she told me we're moving back to Durham but Harry is staying here and moving into a flat. But we're moving away the day after my last exam and I tried to say that I didn't want to move but she wouldn't listen to me, not even Harry listened to me."

All of it spilled out of him without even looking up at Sherlock's expression; he kept his gaze on their joined hands and wouldn't dare to look up. It was like everything stayed still for a moment in time and that there was only them both surrounded by darkness. The darkness blocking them from the outside world while they sat close together under a spotlight.

But quickly the idea vanished, as he was brought back to reality that he didn't want to face. Slowly, he raised his head to look up at Sherlock to see if he felt the same as John: like their whole world was about to fall apart. What hurt the most was that Sherlock looked like he didn't even care. He had the same expression as he did when they both first met: when John asked him for directions. He looked like impatient and that his time was being wasted.

"Well, aren't you going to say anything?" he asked, looking up to meet Sherlock's stare. Still Sherlock did nothing; it was because of this that John felt the urge to shake Sherlock until he would speak. So when he did gently, Sherlock was still emotionless and this terrified John the most, "Sh- Sherlock? Say something, please?"

"Fine." said Sherlock whilst getting up from the bed and walking over to the far window. John's hands felt incredibly empty when Sherlock pulled away from him; his hands were still folded together until he realised Sherlock's reaction. Jumping out of the bed also, John circled around the bed and stopped a metre away from Sherlock.

"Fine? What do you mean fine? You did hear what I said, didn't you?"

"Of course I did John. I'm not a complete idiot."

Something inside John snapped, and within a second he is standing so close to Sherlock that he could feel Sherlock's heat radiating off of him, "So that's all you have to say?! I thought you would at least be a bit more helpful, instead of just saying 'fine'!"

"Well then you thought wrong." Sherlock made a move to circle around John, but John followed quickly with him so they were both facing each other again, "You're going to leave me, aren't you?"

Quickly John wrapped his arms around Sherlock's body and brought them close together; his forehead resting against Sherlock's chest. Without realising it, John began to cry again; his tears soaking through Sherlock's t-shirt, "I- I'm sorry. I don't want to go but-"

"Did you ever love me?" Sherlock asked suddenly. John stopped crying and looked at Sherlock as he was embracing him: his arms were glued to his sides and his gaze was directly at the wall behind John, "After all these months we've been together, did you even have any affection for me?"

"Wha- Of course I did! I still do for god's sake. I love you and this pains me to tell you. I'm trying to ask my mum if we could stay here longer but she isn't listening to me. I want to ask Harry if I can live with her but she's blaming me for what happened to our whole family. Look Sherlock, I know you need somebody right now and I want to be there for you for as long as possible, but can you just help me? Please?" he was practically clinging onto Sherlock's arms as he tried to get Sherlock to look at him, but he still wouldn't look at him.

"I-" His eyes closed tightly as he let out a kept in sigh, "I don't want you to go."

Finally Sherlock opened his eyes to look down at John and moved his own arms around John and held onto him as if it was their last embrace they would ever have. Sherlock too sobbed into John's hair as he locked his hands behind John's back. Everything felt so wrong to John; none of this should be happening. They managed to show as much affection towards each other in a week than they have in months, and it was for all the wrong reasons. He really wished things would go back to the way they were a month ago.

"We- Well, I could stay. I mean we could ask your dad if I can stay here-" The sounds of muffled weeping stopped as Sherlock raised his head from John's hair, "What? What's wrong with that? I mean I could stay with you and then I wouldn't have to go-"

"John, you can be clever at times but now I need you to think about what you said." he held his breath and pursed his lips together, "My family is dangerous. What happened to my mother could just as well happen to you, and if it does I could never forgive myself-"

"Bu- But what if it doesn't happen? Maybe they might find the person who did that to your mum and then they'll be locked away-"

"John it isn't that simple-" he now held John by his arms as he looked around the room as if he wanted to speak in private, "I- I know who killed my mother."

"What?!" he shouted while his mouth was being covered by Sherlock's palm. Once he removed it, he returned his hand back to John's shoulder, "How do you know?" he whispered.

"This man has been following our family for a while now. Years ago I heard my father talk about a dangerous man called Gerald Moriarty who has been watching our family for unknown reasons."

"Gerald Moriarty? But how do you know it's him?"

"When I was younger Moriarty was sent to prison for ten counts of murder and it was because of my father that he was sent to prison in the first place. It wasn't until two years into his time in prison when my father learned that he had a wife and son in Ireland who were unknown. Somehow he must have been let out early. He knows many people in strong occupations, so it could be possible. If Moriarty is still out there, then that could mean he isn't finished yet with my family."

"And that is why you need me with you!" John had also at this time held Sherlock's shoulders in his hands.

"John, if Moriarty realises who you are and what you mean to me and my family, not just your life, but maybe your mother's or your sister's or possibly all of your relatives are at risk. I cannot let that happen to you and that's why you can't stay here."

"So what do you expect me to do?" he pushed Sherlock away as he paced in front of the window, "I want to stay with you and I can't think of any other way. The only thing I can think of is if we were to run away-"

"Not possible. My father has access to all the CCTV cameras in London. If we were to run away he would find us in less than ten minutes. No, that isn't an option."

"Well there's nothing else left!" shouted John who didn't care if the rest of the people in the house heard him, "What can we do? I don't want to go and leave you like this, not after what's happened. I've had enough pressure from exams and colleges and the last thing I want to do is move to a different part of the country-"

"John."

"-And try and make new friends while keeping my secret again-

"John!" said Sherlock who grabbed John's upper arm as he brushed past him; gripping tightly enough for John to turn back around, "Maybe there's nothing we can do."

John was left dumbstruck; what Sherlock said took him completely off guard. It was like Sherlock was giving up so easily. The thought filled him with rage and the sudden urge to shake Sherlock until he saw sense.

"Are you just giving up so easily?!" He stared in shock at Sherlock who looked so calm about everything, "You are, aren't you? Why? Don't you want me here anymore?"

"That's not what I-"

"Then try and help me if that isn't what you meant-"

"And as always John, you're not _listening _to me!" he stopped; his mouth was open but no words came out.

"That's the biggest bullshit I've ever heard! I always listen to you! I've been there for you. Is it so bad that I want to stay here with you and forget my family? Hear that again Sherlock: I am willing to leave my family to stay with you. Now please can you stop acting so mysterious like you think you have the answer to everything and just help me, please?"

Both did nothing for a moment. John was clutching onto Sherlock's arm so much that if he moved his hand slightly upwards, white marks of his hand could be seen printed onto his arm, but that was forgotten when Sherlock's gaze continued to bother him. John guessed that his eyes were blotched red with parts of his face covered in dry tears; his head was pounding in rhythm with his increasing heartbeat. All of this didn't match to what Sherlock looked like. Sherlock stared at John as if he pitied him; his lips were formed into a thin line as if he was trying to think. Whatever Sherlock may be thinking about made John shift nervously with wanting to know.

When Sherlock removed his hand from John's arm, he turned his head away slowly but looked back at John again and stared at him until Sherlock's gaze burned into him and said, "John. I- I think you need to leave."

* * *

**Author's Note: Okay, I know where this is going now. But honestly, I'm not sure you will like it. Please don't kill me, it's my birthday tomorrow. At least let me reach the age of 16 before you kill me. I've been thinking about this for a week but I'm sure I know what I'm doing...I think. Update anytime next week. Thank you for reading :)**


	25. Chapter 25

There were many outcomes he expected; one was that Sherlock would-hopefully-comfort him and come up with some sort of solution for their problems; another expected outcome was that John would comfort Sherlock instead and figure out something together. Never in his mind had he expected Sherlock to ask John to leave. It took him off guard from his train of thoughts; just like a slap on his face would, which was what Sherlock's words felt like to him: a slap in the face.

Slowly, he loosened his hold on Sherlock's arm, but still his fingers were slightly wrapped around them and refused to move, "What did you just say?" he asked, staring up at disbelief while Sherlock stayed very composed.

"Don't make me repeat myself John, you know how much I hate repeating myself-"

"No. Don't start talking about how you hate that, I know you do. But I must have heard wrong, you want me to leave?" he asked. From the brief pause between them, John thought he had heard wrong until Sherlock nodded his head at him, "Why the fuck do you want me to go?!"

"I need time to think." he said. When John made no signal to move his hand, Sherlock removed his arm himself from John and walked over to the bed and took a seat; then raised his hands up to his chin in a praying pose; his elbows on his knees. This looked exactly like Sherlock was they were both on the rooftop after John decided to unexpectedly kiss Sherlock: when Sherlock was trying to erase something, or someone.

"I can't give you a minute. What are you thinking about?" John asked. Walking over to Sherlock he crouched down and placed his hands on the opposite side of Sherlock's elbow. There was still no answer from Sherlock, even when John tried to nudge his arms to get his attention, but still Sherlock stayed silent.

"Look Sherlock." he started, "I've only got a few months left here and I don't want to spend it arguing with you. If you think there's nothing we can do then we should spend all this time we have together and making the most of it."

John was hoping Sherlock would at least move, or even look at him. Anything to show that John was being listened to or that Sherlock was thinking the same idea. But what he hoped wouldn't happen; Sherlock wouldn't even open his eyes for him.

"I know exams and revising are going to make it harder for us, but why should that stop us? You said yourself that you don't need to revise as much because you know most of it, and I believe you because you're just _that _clever. You're cleverer than I could ever be." he sighed, "Are you trying to figure something out for us?" Nothing. "What are you doing then? Ignoring me?"

Hopefully- John thought- this would grab his attention that he longed from Sherlock, but still he stayed mute towards him. It was too painful to even imagine it happen, let alone happen to him at that moment. 'Why was Sherlock ignoring him?' he thought.

"Please Sherlock." John removed his hands from Sherlock's arms and held them up to his face so that at least their faces were looking up to each other, although Sherlock's eyes were still closed, "Just talk to me. Move. Open your eyes. Anything!" He ran his thumbs under Sherlock's eyes; cheek and chin. Anywhere to show that John was still there, "Sherlock. I swear, if you don't move your eyes or even move, then I'll go but I won't promise that I'll come back."

John had to check with himself twice to make sure he actually said those words, they sounded odd to say but yet he wouldn't take them back. It was his only idea of getting anything from Sherlock and if that meant intimidating Sherlock into looking at him, then he was willing to say it. What truly hurt John- as if his heart was shattering into tiny pieces- was that no matter how much he begged-as he was on his knees- Sherlock still didn't move; didn't even open his eyes to look at him. John didn't realise how angry he was of Sherlock until he suddenly jumped up on to his feet; making sure to nudge Sherlock as hard as he can as he did it.

"You know what, fine!" he shouted, walking towards his trainers to put them on, "Ignore me. Does it look like I care? Because I don't. Stay like that for all I care." When he finished putting on his shoes, he got up and made his way towards the door. Before leaving he stopped to turn around and look at Sherlock's statue-like figure on the bed, "You- You _machine!_ Do you even care? For anyone? Was all of what you said before a lie!? Well if it was, it doesn't matter now. I'm leaving. I'm going back home, to my family and you can stay with yours. Unless you're just going to sit there and do fucking nothing!"

Turning back around, he reached his hand towards the door handle and turned it so that the door opened and John put one foot across the doorway, "I don't know if you're listening to me now Sherlock, but I just want you to know that what you're doing is-" he gulped, "-it just hurts me, to think that you were capable of doing something like that, let alone towards me. I'm moving on the 24th June, if you want to know. If you cared for me in the slightest, you would stop all this and find me, but it looks like you're not going to do that now." Then he put his other foot across and turned to face the room once again, "Goodbye Sherlock Holmes." he said, before closing the door.

The door was finally shut and John rested his head into the wooden texture; breathing in its oak scent as he tried his hardest not to cry, not again.

"I love you so much." he whispered into the door, before straightening himself up and making a move to walk back down the stairs for the last time.

* * *

There was no rush to get home, but still he couldn't help running as fast as he could to get there. Luckily he wore trainers or else it would have been difficult for him. To be honest, John didn't know why he was running, but as he was, the wind brushing into his face only made him cry more as he made no move to wipe them away.

John must have been at Sherlock's for a long time, as the sun was setting behind the buildings and the streetlamps were starting to come on. There was no problem of getting lost, as John had grown to know this route home off by heart. It could possibly be the last time also that he takes this route. Not unless Sherlock was to call for him again, but after what happened, that seemed less likely to happen.

Turning the final corner, he finally managed to get back home without tripping or being stopped by a random person wondering why he was in such a state: wearing his pyjamas and trainers while uncontrollable sobbing. If any of his past friends saw him now, they would all say he was acting like a moronic teenage girl. But in all honesty, he couldn't care less what people thought of him, because they don't know what he's been through.

Someone was in the house-luckily- as the lights were on, so John went up to the door and knocked three times and took a step back. Lifting his head, he looked up at his house. He remembered the first day he saw it with his family; when he first moved in. It also reminded him for some reason of his first day of school, where he got lost. When he first met Sherlock.

The door opened- making John jump- and his mother hurried towards him and threw her arms around his shoulders, but he didn't do the same. Usually, if he saw his mother cry his natural instinct would be to hold her and tell her everything would be okay. But this time he didn't do that; he kept his arms at his sides and just stared at Harry who was sat on the stairs. It was like the time that John came home from Sherlock's one day; Harry and his mother being in the exact same positions as they were now. The only thing missing was his father's shouting, but then he remembered.

"John, I'm so sorry for everything. Harry didn't mean what she said. She wants to apologize to you." John could tell those were lies, as Harry gave him a cold glare of disgust that matched her tone when she was on the phone with him, "I promise John, we will be supporting you through the exams in every step of the way. Then when we move to Durham you'll get support from all your family and friends and then-"

John used his own hands to remove himself from his mother while continuing to stare at Harry, "I don't have friends."

"Well of course you do. Your family are your friends. There's Sherlock also, even though you two are together-"

"I said." He walked around his mother and towards the staircase. For a moment, Harry looked like she was in fear of John; that he was going to hurt her, but he wouldn't do that, even after what she said to him. When he got closer towards Harry, she crouched down closer to the banister but relaxed again when John walked past her and headed up the stairs, "I. Don't. Have. Friends. I have no one."

The sounds of his mother calling after him were mute to John as he got closer towards his room. It sounded like his mother's cries got louder as Harry was also calling out for John in an angrier tone, but neither of those made him turn to look.

When reaching his room, he opened his door quickly, walked inside and slammed the door fully shut so that the whole house was drowned out by the noise. The walls seemed to be like soundproof walls, as John now stood in his room in silence. Even though there was a light switch next to him, he made no move to turn in on and just stood in the darkened room. Alone.

It was strangely odd, but for some reason John didn't continue to cry as he did before; however there was still an agonising pain in his chest that he tried hardest to ignore. It was like he ran out of tears to shed, even though there were so many reasons to cry about.

In two months he had to do his best at exams while trying to get over the fact that his whole life was crumbling down like dried up foundation walls. It was going to be hard. The hardest months he had ever had to endure, but there was no way to stop it. John had to live up to the facts, he was alone.

There were people around him-his family- of course that said they would be there for him, but even if they were, it still felt like they were doing nothing better for him. The only fact that John accepted at that moment was that nobody was actually _there for him_; and that nobody can possibly understand what has happened to him in the span of two years. It was enough for anyone to go mad over.

His whole body slid down the door until he collapsed down on the floor and brought his knees up towards his chest and locked his arms around himself; making him into a form of a secluded ball that locked itself away from people, because that was how John felt. The arms acted like a barrier for him to keep safe from the outside world, and if it meant being alone to keep safe then so be it.

Alone is what I have. Alone protects me.

* * *

**Author's Note: OHHH, Sherlock you bastard. To tell you the truth I hated Sherlock in this so much, but this all leads up to the end which- I'm sad to say- will be soon. I'm not sure how soon yet, but we're slowly getting there. Again, hello to new followers; thank you everyone for reading and following the story every week. I'm sorry I'm not updating a lot, but I try and make it up to you by adding more words to each update :)**


	26. Chapter 26

Everyone that was sat around him was the same age, maybe younger. Either way all of them were sat together; looking down at their head teacher who stood before them; about to give his final speech to them all. Most of them had tears in their eyes; others looked happy and there were the few that looked anxious about oncoming exams. John-however- was categorised into none of these emotions. In fact, he didn't feel anything at all. Everyone had known each other longer than John knew them. At the start of the year, he was the new kid; it wasn't a surprise that he still felt like the new kid.

Today was graduation day: the last day that he would be known as a Year 11 student. All of the Y11's were sat in seats; all of them were sat with their friends, and so was John. However, most of them were in large groups all whispering, laughing and crying together. Molly was the only one who was sat with him. He looked over at her and saw that she was smiling down at all the teachers on stage, but from the corners of her eyes she was silently crying to herself. Deep down, he felt rather rude because he wasn't crying or laughing with the rest of them, but to him there was nothing that he was going to miss about this school.

Maybe he would miss Molly and Mike, but he wouldn't miss anybody else; especially not Anderson, or Sally or even Sarah. When he would pass them in the hallway, they would look down on him and snigger when they were behind him. Mike and Molly never did that. John turned around and looked up at Anderson's group, who were sat two rows behind them at the far back of the stalls. Anderson was whispering something to Sally while Mike and Sarah were talking and laughing with each other. Then suddenly Anderson's gaze turned to his direction. Both of them were staring at each other; even Sally didn't notice as she was talking.

Mr Scott- the head teacher- stood up and coughed through the microphone, braking their gaze as everybody turned to face him, "This is it everyone. Your last day. After this it's going to be tough, but I've known most of you since Year 7 and I can say that a _majority _of you would make it out there," A few whispers were given from the crowd, "The rest of you won't, and I'm looking at the ones who have _not _been completing homework," Mr Scott looked at one student, "-or have been attending school-" His gaze then turned to somebody behind John, "-or have been arriving late to school more than expected-" This time he looked at John in the eyes, making him crouch down in his seat.

"-either way, you all need to buckle up and get a grip. In September you'll be starting college and what determines your place at college is how well you do in these exams coming up. You all know the drill, you don't come into school anymore after today, except when you have exams on, then you come to school ten minutes before your exams-in your school uniform!- and then you can go back home once finished. Study well. Do your best and it better be your best. Do your exams at your best level. If any of you manage to fail most of your exams, then don't expect me to shake your hand on results day, got it?!" Everybody nodded enthusiastically, "Right then. It's been a pleasure-" he paused and covered a laugh with a cough, "-to be your head teacher. Congratulations everybody, you are now all graduates of Lakemere High School."

"About fucking time!" Somebody from behind John shouted. Everybody laughed and gave him a round of applause; even John couldn't resist smirking at the comment.

"Hey. Hey! You're still on school property Lestrade! That means you follow school rules while you're still here. Now everyone get up and leave already, I've got paperwork to complete." said Mr Scott, who briefly waved his hand at the audience and started to walk off the stage along with the rest of the teachers. All the students started to get out of their seats and practically run down the stairs; eager to run out the school doors. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Anderson and Sally walk down the stairs- laughing and joking- while Mike and Sarah followed behind them, who were talking to each other. Molly made a move to get up just as the last few were left, so John joined her.

"It's sad, to think I'll never see anyone here again." she said, walking down the stairs with John following beside her, "I've been at this school for five years. I've known Mike since I was 12. And now everyone's going to different colleges, and you-" She gently nudged John with her elbow, "You're even leaving London."

"I'm so sorry Molly, it's just something happened and my mum decided that we should move back to Durham." He looked over at her and saw that she was still quietly sobbing, "Hey, what's up?"

"I- It's just-" She wiped her tears with the back of her blazer's sleeve, "You- You're the only friend I've made- besides Mike- out of the fi- five years I've been here. I- I mean, I can't be that bad, can I?" She looked up at John as they were leaving the hall, "I'm not that bad of a person, I- I've never said anything mean, or done anything bad. Why do people just hate me?"

By now only a couple of people were stood outside the hall, while the rest of the year were stood outside-as John could see through the glass doors- hugging each other and shaking hands. John didn't pity them, in actual fact, he hated them for it, because they might be the ones that make Molly feel this way about herself.

"Now look here," he said, holding his hand on her shoulder to stop her. She turned around as John placed his hands on both of her shoulders, "There's nothing wrong with you, okay? You're just shy, that's all. It doesn't help that most people here are absolute bastards-" She chuckled through her sobs, "Actually, most of them are bastards. But when we get older, and when we have proper jobs and have houses of our own, then we can show them. Show them that we were actually great people hid behind all this shyness and awkwardness. I mean, we could become doctors, police officers, politicians-"

"And pathologists?"

"Especially pathologists." He said, playfully ruffling her hair as he stepped back to look at her, "Don't let them get you down because they're not smart enough to see how great you truly are, okay?" She nodded, "Good. And remember that by the way, that's the best speech I've given in ages." He said, "Right, before I go I need to get everything from out of my locker."

"Oh so do I, I could meet you at your locker and we could walk home together?" She suggested, making a move towards the stairs while still facing him.

"Yeah sure," he said, walking down the hallway whilst not turning, "You know where my locker is, right?" She nodded and turned to walk up the stairs and out of sight. John's locker was located at the far corner of the building and the furthest away from the entrance to the school. Since the Year 11's were finishing three hours early, there was still students in class which made the hallways far quieter than usual. In all fairness, John was actually enjoying the hallway like this. There were no people pushing him into the locker or people from his classes trying to trip him over with their feet. It's only a shame that he managed to see the school like this on the last day.

In the distance he could see his locker at the end of the hallway. As soon as he reached the locker, he got his key out of his pocket and unlocked the padlock and opened it. There weren't many items inside: a pen, his sports kit, a notebook and a box that was used to bring his lunch to school. He shoved all these items- besides the sports kit which he carried- into his bag and closed the locker and put the padlock back in place.

When he turned around, he froze in his spot and dropped the sports kit on the floor. A couple of lockers down, he saw Anderson leaning against one using the left side of his body as he stared at John's actions.

"Do you know John, how much I hate you?" he said, casually walking over to John who was now backed up against the wall, "I genuinely hate you, with a passion. You don't listen to me. You lie to me. You end up shagging somebody that I despise-"

"-Well, we didn't actually sha-"

"Give me a reason as to why I shouldn't punch you right now." Anderson was now inches away from John and was leaning over him, using his height to corner John even more.

"Sh- Sherlock isn't talking to me." he whispered.

"What was that?" he asked, even though he heard, "Sherlock isn't talking to you? Oh and why's that?"

"I-" He choked on his words as felt like he couldn't breathe, "I'm moving. Back to Durham."

"And Sherly doesn't like that, does he?" John shook his head, "Well at least you're free from the freak then, eh?"

"I- I'm sorry?"

"Sherlock. He's an absolute freak. God knows what you see in him. You know I remember when he came to this school. He was such a know-it-all. Walking around here thinking he knows the place like the back of his hand, and I was the only one to knock some sense into him," John stopped shivering and was now looking up at Anderson without looking away, "The weird thing about him was that as I was kicking him, while he was on the ground, he didn't say anything, not even a word. He didn't even shout for help. What I do remember was the sobbing," John stared at disbelief at Anderson; his hands clenching into fists, "He just wouldn't stop crying. I was shouting at him, telling him to 'grow up'! 'Be a man'! Because you know what they say, if you're a grown man who cries, then you're weak, which is what Sherlock is: a weak, psychopath with no heart and no brain-"

Something inside John snapped; he couldn't bear anyone speaking about somebody he loved like that. Even if it was Anderson, he wouldn't hear any more of it. In just seconds, John managed to grab Anderson by his blazer and turned them over so that John was pushing Anderson harder into the wall as he tried to dig his knuckles into Anderson's chest, which he did, sending a cry of pain from Anderson's mouth.

"Listen here you jumped up little shit," said John, pulling Anderson from the wall, only to push him back in again, "Say anything about me, tell me I'm a waste of space or make a pathetic joke about me being gay, but I've you ever say something about Sherlock like you did then I swear to god I will throw you out of a window multiple times before kicking you just like you kicked Sherlock. Sherlock is _not _stupid, you are. He's more brave and cleverer than you could ever be. You are just a stupid prick who doesn't know when to shut the fuck up!"

"John!" Somebody called from behind him. Sharply, he turned only his head and looked over his shoulder to see not only Molly, but Sally, Mike and Sarah staring at the pair; standing far away from them but looked like they wanted to break things up, "John! Stop!" Shouted Sarah again, looking at Mike for help.

With one last turn, he looked back at Anderson and-with one hand- held his neck in place and nudged him so that there were both making eye contact, "You don't know how much shit I've been through in the past year and a half. I've been bullied by my own friends for being gay. I was stabbed in my fucking shoulder-" Molly and Mike gasped behind him, "I was left on the street to die. I still have my limp from time to time and my shoulder still gets tense. I had to move here because of it. I got threats from you. I met Sherlock and he made everything better, and I love him so much for that. But now, his mother had died. My dad's been sent to prison. I have to move back to the city I was stabbed in. Sherlock's not talking to me at all and I actually think that we're not together anymore-" His grip grew tighter on Anderson's neck, "You don't know shit, when it comes to being brave and putting on a straight face. You don't know what it's like to be me, do you?!"

Finally, he released his hand from Anderson's neck, making him choke for air as he held up his own hand to-hopefully- ease out the pain and placed the hand back on Anderson's shoulder, "Sherlock's the bravest person I know. Not only does he live with the fact that he was beaten by you until he let himself cry," The words seemed weird, as he had never known that Sherlock cried during this moment, ", but also he has just lost somebody close to him. You've been at this school and you haven't even tried to make a future for yourself, not like Sherlock has. Maybe you should learn something from Sherlock every now and then instead of acting like a complete dick all the time."

John let his hands drop to his sides and stepped back to pick up his bags again, leaving Anderson to rest on the wall who was trying to rub his shoulders while looking down at the ground. Turning around, he started to walk down the hallway towards Molly. She looked at him as if to say 'Do you want me to follow you?', and he read this from her and nodded his head. When he reached them, he nodded briefly to Mike and Sarah-purposely avoiding Sally- and walked down the hallway with Molly by his side.

Then John remembered that this might be the last time he would see them again. He didn't hate the others as much as he hated Anderson.

For one last time, John stopped walking and turned to look at Anderson again who was now sat down and looking down at the floor, "Hey Anderson!" he called, getting a worried look from him as he looked up, "I swear, if I ever-by pure chance- meet you again in a year, two years, ten years or even twenty years from now- and you're still like how you are today- then I will punch you, but hopefully there is one brain cell in you to understand that you need to change. And if you haven't changed, then I will not hesitate to punch you directly in the face, you go that?!" Anderson nodded repeatedly, "Good."

"Good luck with exams Mike!" he shouted to Mike, who casually saluted once with his hand, "I know you'll do great."

"See you around Sarah!" he shouted to Sarah. All she did was look between Anderson and John as if she had imagined the whole thing, "I still think you would make a pretty good doctor!" She looked across at him with a hint of gleam in her eyes.

"Who knows Sally, maybe you'll be a descent detective when you're older, fingers crossed." he called out. He didn't know if he imagined it, but he could have sworn that Sally smiled back at him, but maybe he was seeing things. With one final salute of his own, he turned around and started to walk down the hallway with Molly.

"John," She said, tugging at his blazer, "Forget your speech with me, I think that was the best speech you've ever given." They both smiled at each other as they headed out the building.

Somehow he felt refreshed about the whole ordeal; that he could face anyone he wanted to and tell them what he thought of them. He felt alive.

However, the whole thought of moving dawned on him and suddenly he didn't feel as alive as he thought he did. Then he remembered back to what he said to Anderson. He didn't actually know if he was with Sherlock anymore. After what happened, how could they still be together? Now he didn't feel as refreshed as earlier. It seemed like everything was still on the verge of falling apart. His heart ached so much.

The only thing that he wanted to focus on was revising for exams, and that was it. He didn't want to seem weak and beg Sherlock to talk to him; he wanted Sherlock to talk to him first; to make the first move; to actually make the effort of comforting and talking to John instead of ignoring him. Until that day comes- even if it might not come at all- all he would do was spend his final days in London in his room and revise until his brain couldn't take it anymore. Nothing else mattered. Nothing at all.

* * *

**Author's Note: I have longed to write that speech with John and Anderson, and it finally happened! Horray! Just thought I would add a random Lestrade to shape the end of the story, so yay! Update will be soon! Thank you for reading and following and reviewing or even clicking the link :)  
**


	27. Chapter 27

There was so much information to take in, but he couldn't stop. In fact, he wouldn't stop, for anything. He wasn't going to risk failing his GCSE's just because his social life was crashing down on him; just putting that extra weight on his shoulders.

Ten exams down; three to go. The past four weeks had been a nightmare. Every day he would commit to studying; whenever his mother or Harry would knock on his door, he would ask them to go away; just them being there was too much of a distraction. John huffed a heavy sigh and held his head in his hands; elbows resting on the table. The watch on his right wrist beeped twice, so John looked at it with one eye. _7:00p.m _it read. Officially, he had sat at that desk for seven and a half hours; even though he knew that was bad, he still did it.

His phone vibrated in the drawer, so John got it out. He had received a new text message from Mike and a third from Molly. Every single one was the same: asking him if he wanted to take a break and meet them somewhere. As always, he didn't answer back.

"John!" his mother called from downstairs, "Tea's ready!"

If he could, he wouldn't leave his desk for tea, as sitting with them irritated him more every day. He still hadn't gotten over the fact that Harry wouldn't let him stay with her, or that his mother wouldn't let him persuade her to think everything through. However, considering that he had sat at his desk for a very long time, a plate of food did sound tempting.

Switching off his desk lamp, he grabbed his phone and raised himself off the seat and rubbed his eyes with his knuckles before walking over to the door and leaving his bedroom. The smell of food spread through the air, and his stomach started to rumble.

As he walked down the stairs, he could hear his mother and sister talking rather loudly to each other in the kitchen. It sounded like they were arguing with each other. When he crossed the living room, he stopped behind the wall of the kitchen so that he was out of sight and listened into their conversation.

"Should I take out the chips?" asked his mother, who was pacing back and forth.

"Well how long have they been in?" said his sister. He could hear her get out of her seat to open the oven, "Jesus Christ mum! They're burnt."

"For goodness sake, just put them on a plate and give me the tray," his mother said, "And where's John? I did call him."

"He's been revising all day. I've tried to tell him that he'll have a meltdown from all of it, but as always he slammed the door in my face. I wonder what's gone into him?"

"He's just upset, that's all."

"Oh please," John had the sudden urge to just storm back upstairs again and leave them, but he continued to listen to them, "He just needs to grow up and stop acting like a spoilt tosser."

"Harriet!"

"Well it's true. You'd have thought he would have gotten over the fact that we're moving, but no. He's been in his room most of the time. I only saw him twice last week; that was it."

"Maybe we should talk to him." said his mother. He took this as the right time to appear behind the wall and into the kitchen. They didn't notice him as they were turned back on him, but when he closed the kitchen door behind him, they both jumped and looked at him, "Oh good, you're here." she said, walking around the table and towards John, "Take a seat, I just need to get the plates."

He didn't look at his mum or his sister when he entered the room or when he sat down at the table; none of them noticed. Harry put the food on the table-cheese and tomato pizza and chips- and joined to sit down at the table to the left of John. Once his mother set down the cutlery and the plates on the table, she sat down at the table to on John's right side.

"I'm sorry about this John." said his mother, who grabbed a plate; as did Harry, "I didn't have time to cook, I've been too busy with all the plans for next week and packing. Oh and by the way, on the last night we're staying here which is next Wednesday, I'll be helping Harry with unpacking at her new flat on the other side of London and staying with her for the night, so you'll have the place to yourself for the night and early morning, okay?" He didn't answer back.

The month had passed by so quickly, as next week was when his final exam would commence. John felt that he had wasted his last month here stuck up in his room, but there was nowhere else he wanted to go. Even the offers from Mike and Molly didn't tempt him into leaving the house, but if it was Sherlock offering, he would take the first opportunity.

The only problem was that Sherlock hadn't talked to him in a month, not since he stormed out of his house. Although that didn't stop him from checking his phone every hour for any messages or missed calls that he may leave; every day he was left disappointed. His own mother or sister didn't even know about this. Maybe Sherlock had forgotten him- he thought- or maybe he had deleted him. There was a chance that Sherlock didn't even know who he was. He hated that Sherlock said he could do those things: erase people as if they were a mistake on a piece of paper.

"Hey John!" A pair of fingers snapped in front of him, and he was brought back to reality and where he was. Beside him Harry and his mother had already started eating and John still had no plate in front of him. He realised that his sister was snapping her fingers at him, "Aren't you going to eat anything?"

He listened and grabbed his own plate and put a slice of pizza on it before picking it up to take a bite. Even if it was tasteless and rubbery in his mouth, he willingly ate the piece before putting it back down.

"How's revision been going?" asked his mother, who added a handful of chips onto John's plate, "Doing well I hope?" he nodded at her before eating another piece, "Ah, that's good. Your grandmother would be proud to hear. By the way she called yesterday and asked to talk to you about if you wanted a summer job helping her at the shop, how does that sound?" He shrugged his shoulders, "Well...I'll tell her you're thinking about it then."

A silence returned again to the table as all three sat eating and staring at each other. What John did was eat and stare at the window while-at the corner of his eyes- he could see his mother look at Harry. After a while, his sister poked him in the arm, "How's Sherlock, by the way? Haven't heard anything from him lately."

Even the sound of his name made him nauseous as his stomach clenched. He put his food down carefully and answered, "I don't know."

"What do you mean 'you don't know'?" asked his mother, "Surely you've kept in touch with him, haven't you? After what happened to his dear mother, I would have thought you would have been with him every day."

"Yeah John. I mean he is your boyfriend after all-"

"No, he's not." he said. Now he could feel their gazes stabbing through him as he refused to look at them, "Not anymore."

"What are you talking about?"

"We're not together anymore." he said simply, stabbing with his fork at a chip.

"How does that happen? I thought you two were still together after what's happened between you two."

"Nope."

"Are you sure John?" asked Harry, who sounded truly concerned for him which had been a change to how she's been talking to him this past month, "Maybe you're taking a break or something?"

"Nope, we're finished." he grabbed his glass of water and drank slowly from it before putting it back down, "I haven't talked to him in a month."

"What?" his mother asked. She placed her hand gently on his arm and he didn't make a move to remove it, "I thought that-"

"Why does life have to be so fucking difficult?" he said suddenly and rather loudly; even his sister was taken aback. He chucked his fork onto the table and rested his hands in his head again, "I mean, I didn't ask for any of this to happen to me, but it happens anyway."

"John, sweetie-"

"I try so hard to live my life and not get so stressed about all the things that are happening to me. What have I done to deserve this?" he felt his eyes burn as he rubbed them with his palms, "Why can't I just be normal?"

"John, you are normal." said Harry. She lifted the plate away from John in case he had the urge to throw it at a wall, "Well, part of you is normal. But normal is so boring John, in actual fact, you should be proud that you're not normal."

"But why can't people treat me like I'm normal, and not just some-" he stopped. Inside of his hands, he could feel his palms slowly getting wet as did his eyes. He was crying, "- some freak. I don't want enemies, but somehow Sherlock and nearly everyone at school hates me!"

"John, Sherlock doesn't hate you. You can't be sure of that-" his mother said, but he interrupted her.

"But I am sure; Sherlock ignored me when I told him I was leaving for good. He wouldn't even look at me, even when I begged him to. I just hate it when he does this thing. He says he can delete people-"

"Delete people? As in, like forget them and stuff?" asked his sister.

"Yeah, exactly. I think he did it once, and what he did was stay still and absolutely silent and you know what," he raised his head and looked between them both who were staring wide eyed at him, "He did the exact same thing when I told him. I think he's deleted me you know."

"John that's a horrible thing to think. I'm sure Sherlock loves you too much, he wouldn't do something like that to somebody he loved." said his mother, "And how could anybody delete somebody like that?"

"Nobody can, except Sherlock. He could do many things that made me like him." he turned to his mother- his head still in his hands- and asked, "Ar- Are you sure that we can't just stay-"

"John, I know this might be difficult for you, but we need to move on. Harriet's got her own place now, and we now have a new home to move into. We could move on from all of this, isn't that what you want?"

"I would love to move on mum, I've always wanted to move on. But do we have to move on like this?"

"Yes! We do. I hate telling you twice John, you just need to understand. Once Thursday comes, we would have moved out already and be on our way to our new home. I want to move on. Harriet wants to move on-"

"I know you do, and so do I. But to be honest, neither of you know what it's been like for me these past few years, do you?" Now he started to get angry with them and his hands turned into fists as he rubbed his eyes with more force, "I tried moving on when we moved here, but that turned out badly. What makes you think that I'll be happy when we move to Durham?"

"You have to be happy John, for me. For all of us. You need to be strong-"

"I've been strong in the last two years!" he got up in one swift movement, sending the chair onto the floor, "You just don't understand that! You know I was pretty depressed when we moved here, I thought that people wouldn't even talk to me because I was the new kid on his last year of school. I mean, I only made two friends there; that's it! And Sherlock, well-" he sighed, "-he was truly the greatest thing that has happened to me here. The only times I've been happy were with Sherlock, and that's a fact. But now...I have no one."

He turned and walked towards the door and opened it before he heard his mother get up quickly from her seat and run over to him to grab his arm, "But you have us John, we're here for you. We honestly _do _understand."

He gave one last look at his mother, before grabbing her hand and removing himself from her. Then he turned back around and walked out of the room, saying to them, "You understand me? That's the biggest lie I've ever heard."

* * *

Harry watched her brother storm through the living room and heard the sounds of him walking up the stairs and his door slamming shut before her mother turned around to look at her. She looked just as distraught as when the police took her dad away from them.

"This family is breaking." her mother said. Slowly, she lifted the chair off the floor and sat down next to Harry, "John's breaking...I remember when he was a boy, do you?" Harry nodded, "He loved rugby, and he loved going on his bike in the park. You were twelve and he was seven when you were just learning how to ride a bike. He got so excited that he tripped over running after you when you lost control down the hill."

They both laughed and carefully she took one of her mother's hands in hers; rubbing small circles on her knuckles. Her mother continued, "He was so afraid when you fell off your bike, he ran to you and shouted as loud as he could to so that your dad and I could hear. He never left your side when we took you home; he even asked to put on the bandage himself. I think that's why he wanted to become a doctor, because he loves to help people."

"We had ice cream too," said Harry, "I remember that, but why are you saying this mum?"

"I-" she stopped and looked at Harry; her eyes began to water and instantly Harry pulled her into a hug so that her mother's head rested on her shoulder, "I- just wish...that everything was back to the way it was. When everyone was happy, and George and I were still-" The sobbing grew louder, "I just- want my John back."

"Shh" Whispered Harry into her mother's hair, "Please mum. Don't cry."

"I- I'm sorry, about everything. Thank you honey, for helping me as be- best as you can. I'll always appreciate it." As they sat together, her mother's cries grew quieter and outside the window grew darker. She could feel her mother's tears soak into her shirt, and it was then that Harry realised that she had to do something for them both. If she was going to move out and leave them both, they she would do at least one thing for them both before she goes. Especially for John.

There were many times when they had been happy. When they were younger they were a strong pair; nobody could break them apart. When John would cry, she would do the same because she hated it when her brother would cry. He always looked so small, even now; almost like a child.

Gently, she patted her mother's back with one hand and rubbed her mother's hair with the other as she asked, "Mum?"

"Yes honey?"

"Do you happen to know where Sherlock lives?" she asked. Her mother stopped sniffling and looked up at her.

"Yes, I do. Why do you ask?"

"It's just, there's something I need to do before I move out. Don't worry; I'm not going to chuck eggs at his house or anything. I just need to talk to Sherlock, even if it's just for minute or two. Even if he doesn't listen, I have to talk to him. For John's sake."

* * *

**Author's Note: There is a reason John acts like this now, as some things happen during later chapters. Thank you for reading/reviewing/adding as favourite or following :) The next update-where Harry and Sherlock talk(dun, dun, duuun!)- should be next week as always :)**


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